


Wind River

by Chimerical1975



Category: The X-Files
Genre: An X-File Case, Character Study, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Male Slash, Murder Mystery, Original Character(s), Slash, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:55:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 59,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28997100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chimerical1975/pseuds/Chimerical1975
Summary: A small town, well-kept secrets, a serial killer, and sexual cravings. Dangerous affairs all around await Mulder and Scully in Wind River
Relationships: Fox Mulder & Dana Scully, Fox Mulder/Other(s)
Kudos: 8





	Wind River

**Author's Note:**

> My first dip into the slash pool, so of course this is different from my usual fare. And in keeping with my bullheaded nature, instead of just sticking my toe in and starting with a nice PWP, but as I dove in, it took on a life of its own. Getting it out of my head and onto paper proved to be a bitch and I hope that I did it justice in the end. It's harsh, and it's bleak, But ultimately, I think hopeful. Sorry - I can't help it; I just seem to end up writing plot. Technical thanks to: Dr. Jim Endersby of the University of New South Wales, Melinda the Wonder Paramedic of Pasadena Fire Station 34 (who immediately knew which actor I based Tristan on - no flys on you, girl! ) and to Roy Hunter, MS/CHt and Certified Hypnotherapy Instructor.
> 
> Chimerical1975@gmail.com  
> Comments, questions, discussion, and criticisms always welcome.  
> The X-Files, its characters and situations are the property of 1013 Productions and Fox Broadcasting.

**August 1, 1999  
Wind River, Wyoming **

It took him several hours to find what he was looking for. He'd started the day by driving slowly along the two-lane highway for miles outside of town, then turning around and retracing the same path again, trying to get it to fall into place. He drove more slowly each time, oblivious to the wailing of truck horns and the drivers who flipped him off as they passed him by. 

He didn't know why he found it on the fifth pass. Perhaps it was the angle of the sun or the formation of the clouds above. But unlike his earlier trips, it just suddenly clicked into his head. The picture was right. This was it. 

He pulled over and stared a moment, almost laughing at the irony. It was just a few miles outside Wind River, this ragged and overgrown path cutting across the fields and leading up into to the hills. He knew that many years ago the trail had been a narrow dirt road that eventually led to a small now-abandoned stone quarry. That deep hole cut in the rocks had filled with water years ago, making it the closest thing to a serviceable lake that this area had. It was like a huge swimming pool surrounded by trees. 

He and his two best friends, Robbie and Bret, had come here often back when all they'd needed to rule their world were their bicycles. But that was a long time ago and he hadn't been up that path in maybe ten years now. And he'd give almost anything not to go up there now because he was desperately afraid of what he might find at the end of his journey. 

Staring up at the hills, he wondered if he should just turn around and go on back home. Just keep one more secret. He'd been doing that for a long, long time now and he was good at it. There were many things that he made sure no one knew. 

He suddenly realized that his hands were trembling as they gripped the steering wheel. Seeing that involuntary response suddenly propelled him out of the Jeep and onto the path. 

He was fucking sick of keeping secrets. 

It took him about twenty minutes to reach the quarry. From there, he wandered along the steep, sharply cut rocks making his way about halfway around to the far side of lake. He stopped, breathing hard. But it wasn't the heat of the summer sun that caused the sweat or the racing of his heart. It was because he knew that he was in the right place under the trees. 

He smelled it before he saw it; the odor was an assault on his senses like nothing that he'd ever experienced and his stomach revolted immediately. After a moment, he moved down to the edge of the water and what he'd sought came into view, half under some overhanging rocks and half in the water. As he stared open-mouthed in repulsion, an overwhelming sense of betrayal swept over him. 

Goddamn it, this wasn't supposed to be here. It wasn't supposed to be here. This whole trip had been about proving himself wrong. He turned away and stumbled as his gut lost the battle for control over the sight and the smell. His stomach emptied up on to the rocks and the sour, bitter taste burned his throat, causing even more retching. He sank down to the ground in the miserable heat, coughing and gagging, his eyes watering as he gasped to bring in air between the heaves. 

Shit. Oh shit, what was he going to do now? 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

August 12, 1999 

"Hey Scully--why do men have nipples?" 

Mulder watched his partner lift her attention from the case report file in her lap and squint over at him, clearly not sure she'd heard correctly. She also looked slightly irritated. Of course, she often looked that way on planes, so it wasn't necessarily directed at him. Scully hated having her personal space invaded and for the last four hours, they'd been packed in the tiny and miserably uncomfortable coach class seats. They'd made the space even smaller by turning the two seats into a mini-version of their FBI office with papers, files, and photographs spread everywhere. 

"What?" she asked pointedly. 

He repeated his question slowly as though she was hard of hearing. "Why do men have nipples?" 

Scully followed his hand gesture to the magazine in his lap. He'd apparently put aside the interviews he'd been analyzing for hours and had picked up one of the airplane magazines. She leaned over and glanced down at the ad for Soloflex equipment. In it, an incredibly buff young couple was demonstrating the joys of the grossly overpriced exercise machine. 

Scully barely deigned to glance at the female model, instead concentrating on the superb example of the male of the species. She drew a deep breath. Oh MY, she thought, taken by the sight of the stunning young man in the ad. God, it's been too damn long since I've seen something like that in person. Regaining her composure, she remembered that Mulder had asked her a question. She raised her eyes and looked at him, now trying to determine whether he was genuinely curious or merely bored and yanking her chain for his personal amusement. He was quite capable of both and God knows he'd been in an acidic mood lately. 

But as she met his eyes, she saw that he wore the open expression that he got when he was concentrating on a mystery, a look that was almost child-like. He was indeed actually curious. 

"Didn't they teach you biology in high school, Mulder?" 

"Jesus, Scully, that was twenty years ago. Not to mention that at seventeen I was concentrating on other far more interesting biological matters. Trust me, I've got the important basics down. 

She smiled at that and decided to accommodate him. "It's all about X's and Y's," she told him. 

"Yeah, I know about the X's and Y's thing." 

"Well, then you know that all embryos start out the same--all will develop into females by default. It's only the contribution of the Y chromosome from the father that initiates the chemical changes that makes an embryo into a male--" 

"Way to go, Dad." Mulder grinned at her. 

"Do you want to hear this or not?" 

Mulder nodded, his expression promising that he would be good. 

"OK. But that change doesn't happen until at about the tenth week of pregnancy, until then the embryo is still developing into a female. Without the Y, the gonads of the embryo develop into ovaries. But, if the embryo did get the Y chromosome, the labia fuse to form the scrotum and gonads begin to develop into testes which start to produce testosterone, then when the embryo is about fifteen or sixteen weeks old, its genitals start appearing." 

"So I still have nipples because they'd already begun to develop before the switch-to-male signal is received? A sort of left-over souvenir from when men were more in touch with their feminine side?" 

Scully nodded. "A little simplistic, but yes, that's basically it. The development of breast tissue in the male halts, but for some reason the nipples are not reabsorbed. Although, there have even been a few reported cases of actual secretion of milk by an adult male." 

Mulder gave a slight grimace. "There's an X-file I think I'd just as soon not get involved with." 

"But mostly, it appears that you still have nipples because they cause no danger or detriment to the male, so natural selection hasn't caused them to disappear in the evolution of the human. In fact, they seem to be an area of extreme pleasure on some males even though they serve no real biological function." 

Not that I've had any recent experience in seeing any male pleasure, she thought. As she watched Mulder digest the information, she wondered if he was so pleasure inclined in the nipple area; she'd come close to finding out once. As his eyes swept over the hard-muscled woman in the ad, Scully waited, knowing it would only be a moment before his mind moved on to other things. 

"Hey Scully--so that's what your...the--" Mulder stumbled just a tad over the word. 

"Yes, Mulder, that's exactly what the clitoris is," she answered, a little amused at his discomfort. While she wasn't in the habit of discussing her clitoris with her partner, it also wasn't often that she got an opportunity to twist him a bit. "Of course, males need a multitude of blood vessels and nerve endings in their penises to achieve and maintain erections. Because the penis and clitoris have their origins in the same structure, females have the same number of blood vessels and nerve endings, but packed into a much smaller area, resulting in the enhanced sensitivity of the clitoris. So, while you get to stand up when you pee, we get multiple orgasms. Personally, I think we won out in the game of genetics roulette." 

Mulder squinted at her a bit. He knew all that stuff of course, but for some reason, he was having trouble coming up with a suitable smart-assed retort. So instead, he went with an alternative fallback position--changing the subject. He closed the magazine and nodded to the files in Scully's lap. 

"You finish reading the locals' report?" 

"Just finishing. It's a weird one, Mulder, even for us." She gestured at the horrific photos in her lap. "This kid knows amazing crime scene details--" Scully was interrupted by the announcement that the plane was about to land and that the descent would begin shortly. The agents turned their attention to cleaning up and packing away the masses of paperwork they'd managed to scatter all over the area. 

Some of the crime scene photos slipped from Scully's lap to the floor and Mulder twisted down to retrieve them. He glanced at them just briefly, then averted his eyes as he handed them back. They were among the worst he'd ever seen, including his days with the VCS unit. Even in black and white they'd turned his stomach and triggered his gag reflex the first time he'd looked at them. As he'd struggled to form a profile, they'd imprinted on his mind and he'd had trouble dismissing the sights. 

Six dead men had been found in the rural county areas just outside Wind River, Wyoming. All had been beaten to death. 

Mulder knew that it took a long, long time to die that way. 

It seemed the killer had taken quite some time, perhaps even days, to draw out his systematic destruction of the human body. The punishment had been merited out in increments. He'd taken his time to crush in ribs, shatter jaws and fracture arms. Teeth were broken, eyeballs ruptured and internal organs lacerated by blows from a blunt object or sharp bone ends punching inward. Faces were caved in from a blunt instrument. 

It appeared that the final injuries to the face and head were delivered close to the moment of death. It seemed the perpetrator didn't want the victims to lose consciousness too fast or perhaps because it was more fun to draw out the pain with ever-increasing rage, but not enough to actually cause death. If it ended too soon, he wouldn't get to hear the sounds of pain being inflicted or any pleading or begging. 

Mulder knew that would be the part that the killer liked best--That feeling of absolute power over life and death. He would want time to savor and enjoy it. 

The final insult to the body came in the form of a shotgun blast to the face that was delivered post mortem. The reason for this wasn't to obscure the identity, because the victims were found with their wallets still on them. Instead, it seemed to be a final hateful act of erasing all that the person was. 

He'd profiled more of these bastards than he could stand to remember back in his days with the VCS. He believed that in many ways, the human creatures that he'd chased down then were far more inexplicable and cruelly deviant than the inhuman creatures he and Scully had confronted over the last six years. 

At first, the local Sheriff's Department hadn't even realized they had a serial killer on their hands. A couple of months ago, a body had been discovered on the roadside just outside of Wind River. They hadn't thought too much of it at the time. The man was a trucker from Idaho, he'd only been dead a few hours, and his abandoned truck had been found just a few miles away. They'd thought it to be a hijacking gone bad and there had been little evidence to investigate. 

Then a couple of weeks later, a hunter found another body. The evidence showed that this victim had been tied or restrained, indicating that he'd been held for some time before his death. During that investigation, yet another body was found in the same condition and they couldn't chalk this up to strange coincidence anymore. 

Local law enforcement was at a loss. The victims hadn't been robbed; all still had wallets or other ID on them. Because of the vicious nature of the death, they had thought at first that the dead were victims of hate crimes. This theory had seemed more viable when it turned out that one of the victims had been gay. But the others were just average guys with none of the religious, sexual orientation or racial characteristics typically targeted by hate groups. None of the dead were local, they were all truckers or vacationers just passing through on their way to Yellowstone or other vacation spots. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to the deaths. 

But Mulder knew better than that. The killer or killers had a plan; they just hadn't discovered what it was yet. Of course, that would prove difficult because the plan could only make sense to a deranged person. They might even be dealing with two nutcases because although it was rare, serial killers did occasionally work in pairs. 

But as horrific as these crimes were, it was neither his profiling abilities nor Scully's forensic skills that were the thing that brought them to Wind River. It wasn't the nature of the deaths, but rather, the nature of the single witness to the crimes that summoned them here. 

Shortly after the third death, a young man walked into the Sheriff's station and told them he thought he knew something about the murders. Visibly shaken and agitated, he'd told them of an abandoned quarry and a decayed body. It seemed that he hadn't stumbled upon it while on a walk; he'd been seeing it in a dream for some time. The police were understandably skeptical, but deputies were sent out and sure enough, the dead man was exactly where the young man claimed that he would be. 

He'd then proceeded to tell them where they could find two other bodies bringing the total of dead to six. He described all the details clear down to what color shirt the victims were wearing. He knew of the particular injuries on the bodies. He knew exactly where among the hills and trees of the surrounding countryside that bodies had been left. 

Based on the levels of decomposition, the last three victims found appeared to have been the first to die. The slaughter had been going on for much longer much than anyone had originally thought and the killer had been getting more brazen about leaving bodies about for people to find. 

When this kid had started spouting details that only the investigators and county coroner knew, he was held for questioning. Under hours of interrogation, he'd brought forth even more details from the previous murders all the while insisting that he'd seen everything in a horrifying series of dreams that had started a few weeks ago. 

The police weren't buying into this bullshit though and they were convinced they'd found their man. 

But the longer they held him, the faster their case began to fall apart. They couldn't pin squat on this guy. They could find no connection with any of the victims. Search warrants executed on his house, work and Jeep didn't bring forth a single shred of physical evidence. No fingerprints, blood, hairs, fibers, dirt, or weapons. They found no trace evidence that belonged to the victims. 

They'd had some hope when they discovered through credit card records that one of the victims had been at the tavern where the young man worked as a bartender. But one of the barmaids remembered the trucker because he'd come on to her. She told the Sheriff that she'd tallied his bill and he'd left the bar, got in his rig and left town a good five hours before the kid had even finished his shift. He'd been in plain view of dozens of people when that murder had occurred. And just like that, their one lead evaporated. 

He was actually still in police custody when the seventh dead man had been found. He'd awakened, screaming, in his cell. He begged them to go to the place he claimed to see in his dream. He'd become hysterical, begging them to make it all go away, he didn't want to see anymore. A doctor had to be called to sedate him. 

The seventh victim was exactly where he'd said they'd find it. This was a fresh kill, not more than a few hours old. There was still-wet blood covering the body and puddles not quite soaked into the ground around and under it. This indicated the killer had dumped him off shortly after killing him and the heat of a summer day hadn't yet dried the blood. 

The police were against a wall. They didn't have enough to hang a case on this kid, as much as they wanted to, and they didn't know what the hell to do next. They'd had to turn him loose although everyone was convinced that he was involved somehow. They had seven dead men and their only witness was a seemingly unstable young man with dream visions. They were certain that he was somehow a conspirator in the carnage but they couldn't prove a fucking thing. So, in the end, they called the FBI. 

And Mulder and Scully were here to try to glean the truth of it all. 

As the plane began its descent Mulder flipped open the remaining file still sitting in his lap. He carefully studied the photograph of the young man that he'd been dissecting mentally for the last two days. 

Tristan Hunt was twenty-three years old, born and raised in Wind River, the son of a Shoshone mother and white father. His parents were both dead, one by cancer and the other by a heart attack and he'd pretty much been on his own since he was seventeen. By all accounts, his had just been a regular childhood with no history of physical abuse or psychological trauma in his family. There was no alcohol or drug abuse. He had no previous police record, not even a parking ticket. There were no known radical religious, political or social affiliations. There were no previous claims of the paranormal or psychic abilities. At first blush, this case had seemed much like the one of Luther Boggs. However, the young man claimed no psychic aptitudes or channeling abilities. Indeed, he appeared to be terrified by what he was seeing and seemed to have no ability to control it. 

He was a bartender at a tavern at the edge of Wind River where he apparently worked hard and was well liked by his co-workers. He sporadically attended the local junior college where he was slowly working his way towards a degree in graphic arts. 

The search of his house turned up nothing more interesting than a few gay magazines and videos. While that probably created a storm of gossip buzz in the small town, as far as Mulder could tell, Tristan Hunt was just an average nobody, living out his life doing an average job in an average small town. There was nothing whatsoever to bind him to the murders. 

Well, nothing except that he knew all about them because he'd seen them in dreams. 

Mulder again wondered if he was looking at the accomplice of the serial killer. He'd been studying this young man for days, reading all the reports and background materials and interviews. But he also knew that paperwork never told the whole story. 

Tristan Hunt's face was quietly gentle looking. But wasn't that what they said about all serial killers though? Still, it was a nice face; handsome by any standards, fair skinned with shaggy dark hair. Kind looking, Mulder thought again. 

But the photograph taken at the police station also showed soft circles under the man's very dark brown eyes, and their expression was one of distress and weariness. 

They were sad eyes, Mulder thought with a sudden pang of sympathy, much too sad for the kind face. He wondered if what the young man claimed to be seeing--and having nobody believe him--was consuming his spirit. Mulder understood that kind of despondency better than most. 

And just like the first time he looked at this photo, the same thought struck him. It was his gut feeling that Tristan Hunt was not involved in these killings. 

Mulder pushed that thought away immediately, glancing over at Scully almost guiltily. Looks were deceiving; he knew that better than most too. Certainly Scully would put little, if any, credence to a gut feeling. Especially if it was his, he thought with a flash of resentment. 

Mulder put the file away. He turned his eyes and watched as Scully matter-of-factly reordered the gruesome autopsy photos back into their original sequence as though they were vacation pictures. He was always amazed by her ability to disassociate herself from the horrific things she saw. It was something he admired and wished he could do more of for himself. 

But he also knew that on occasion that demeanor was a lie. 

She'd always treated the few times that she'd given into a loss of emotional control with embarrassment. But once her lapse was over, it was never spoken of again. It was her way of putting her life back in its proper order. A few months ago, a nutcase stalker had almost killed her. She'd cried in fear and relief in his arms and then not another word was mentioned. Not one. She'd been through a horrific ordeal and as far as she was concerned, it hadn't happened. 

He did know that she occasionally sought out the employee counseling resources at the FBI. What was discussed at these sessions, he had no clue. And even though he knew it was wrong, he still felt hurt that she would talk about what was going on in her head with a total stranger, but not with him. He knew that his hurt feelings weren't reasonable because discussing her problems with a disinterested third party was exactly what she should do. But it still bothered him to be shut out. After six years, he thought he deserved more of her trust. He'd earned it. And hadn't he given her all his? 

Last summer, in the middle of their biggest crisis together, she'd come to tell him that she was leaving the FBI. She'd insisted that her leaving shouldn't bother him because he didn't really need her anyway. It was only then that he'd understood that he'd done a poor job of letting her know just how important she was to both him and the work. And so he'd told her. 

But in the ensuing months, no reciprocal words were ever forthcoming from her. Not then, and never once in all the time since. At first, he'd thought it was because they'd almost crossed that carefully drawn line in the sand between them and she was embarrassed by the memory of that moment. That was something he could understand, for the memory was awkward for him too. It was yet another thing they didn't talk about. 

Lately though, the overwhelming feeling he carried was a low-burning resentment. He was able to rise above it most of the time and they worked together just as they always did. But that status quo was troubling too. After six years, he believed that he'd earned the right not to have Scully immediately reject or mockingly ridicule his every theory. After six years, he was increasingly weary of her automatic negativity that came more from habit than from any real sense that he might be wrong. He didn't mind being questioned; he would expect no less of her. However, he did mind being smugly dismissed. He was tired of being made to feel so damned isolated. 

Mulder turned his eyes to look out the window. Everything in his life was about this job and so little was about him. That didn't used to bother him so much, but after nearly suffocating to death alone in a dark hallway in Florida, he'd begun question why he continued to do this. He wondered if anything he did mattered to anyone. He kept thinking he'd get over this funk, but so far, it hadn't happened, he just felt increasingly forlorn. 

The truth was, he was tired of being physically isolated too. This was something he didn't let himself think about too often and it was also something that he tried to rise above. But it also was something that had been low-burning for a long time too, just as the other had. 

Shit, the last person who'd touched him had been Kristen. A goddamn wanna-be Vampire who'd managed to be even more screwed up than himself. Still, she'd reached out for him and he'd felt needed for the first time since he couldn't remember. He'd fucked her roughly for hours as he'd tried to obliterate his feelings of loneliness and failure. Kristen hadn't minded for she was doing the exact same thing. He could still remember the intimate shuddering satisfaction of coming hard and deep within another person, temporarily relieving the ache. And there had been no one else since. Only himself. 

He felt pathetic and embarrassed by that. And the really sad thing was, he fooled no one. Even that fucking ghost Maurice knew all about him. He'd called him a narcissistic, overzealous, self-righteous egomaniac. He'd told him that while he preferred to think of himself as single-minded, the reality was that he was just an anti-social, obsessive-compulsive, workaholic. He'd told him that he was a lonely man chasing paramasturbatory illusions that he believed would give his life meaning and significance and which his pathetic social maladjustment made impossible for him to find elsewhere. The worst truth had been the last one Maurice had dumped on him: that he was afraid of his own loneliness. 

Psychoanalyzed by a ghost. Shit. 

The worst part was that the dead bastard had been completely right on all counts. And if even the dead saw all that, it was probably pretty apparent to the living too. That Scully knew was particularly embarrassing. Although, it wasn't as though Scully had been on a date that he was aware of since she'd fucked some guy with a talking tattoo. 

Ah well, at least his last sexual experience hadn't tried to shove him in an incinerator. At least his lunatic had tried to save his life. Surely, that counted for something. 

So here he was--a pathetic, lonely, fucking loser. His only companion being his pathetic, lonely, fucking loser partner. FBI Monster Boy and the Mrs. were still shouting to the heavens that the sky was falling. Well, he was anyway--she still preferred to believe that it was all a delusion of his. 

Suddenly Mulder smiled to himself. Boy, he had a really good melancholy going here, he was beginning to really enjoy this. He had to admit that there was something rather satisfying about a good healthy bout of self-pity. It was as snug as a feather bed, comforting in its own strange way. Yep, no one did morose better than Fox William Mulder. 

He was jolted out of his thoughts when the plane bounced hard on the runway in a less than smooth landing and Mulder felt the g-forces at work as the brakes were applied. He instinctively looked over at Scully who wasn't the most comfortable flyer. She met his eyes briefly and nodded to show him that that she was fine before looking away. Of course, he thought, God forbid she'd admit to me that she was nervous about something. 

He looked away as he sighed inwardly, chiding himself for his mental sarcasm. That wasn't fair. He was just in a crappy mood. God knows the human carnage he'd been looking at and reading about for the last two days certainly didn't help. He looked back at Scully's profile, mentally apologizing to her. He still trusted her with his life. He still believed that she kept him on balance. He knew that she would do virtually anything for him and when his back was against the wall, more often than not, Scully was standing next to him, although she apparently thought he was a fool most of the time. 

But of course, that begot the question: Who was the bigger fool--the fool that leads or the fool that follows? 

Jesus, there was simply no explaining the two of them. It was best not to think about it. 

The plane taxied to a stop and he unbuckled his seat belt. He felt bone-deep weary the way the young man in the picture looked weary. Not physically tired, but emotionally depleted. Maybe he'd take some time off when this case was over. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once setting down in Casper, it was an almost two-hour drive to Wind River; a small farming community set down in the Wind River Shoshone Indian Reservation with a population of hardly enough to count as a town. In fact, the stadium where the Washington Redskins played football held five times the entire population of Wind River. 

Once there, they found the Sheriff's station and met Sheriff Dale Carmichael, the beleaguered law enforcement agent who'd called the FBI, and his Deputy, John Simmons. Mulder's initial assessment of Sheriff Carmichael was that he was professional and, to his credit, smart enough to know this was out of his league. These kinds of murders just didn't happen in this very rural area and he didn't have the training, funds, or manpower to deal with the situation. However, Mulder also took an instant dislike to Deputy Simmons who clearly thought they were crossing into his territory. There was a narrow-eyed meanness to the man that he didn't even try to hide. 

Mulder and Scully were ushered into Sheriff's small office and the preliminary polite remarks were made and gotten out of the way. 

"I want to thank you both for coming, I didn't know what the hell to do with this now. I can't make a case on this guy and I just can't fucking believe that this kind of horseshit is going on here." The Sheriff suddenly looked over at Scully. "Excuse me, Ma'am." 

Scully smiled a little, "You can call me Agent Scully," she said, gently reminding him that she was a Federal Agent and neither a delicate flower nor a Ma'am. "So, I understand that we're meeting with Mr. Hunt." 

Deputy Simmons nodded. "Yeah, he'll be here. I had to lean on him quite a bit to get him to come in. He's still claiming all those visions of his are driving him crazy. What the hell do you make of all that, Agent Mulder?" 

Mulder sat forward in his chair. "We have quite a few files on this kind of phenomenon. You may know that many law enforcement agencies have used psychics to provide them with information--" 

Scully interrupted him, "But usually their supposed knowledge is so vague and general that it can be interpreted in many ways, thereby rendering it useless." 

Mulder looked at her a moment before turning back to finishing answering the Deputy's question. "As I was saying, rarely is there a case with the kind of specificity that Mr. Hunt has given. This is particularly unusual in that Mr. Hunt claims to have never had any kind of precognitive or remote viewing dreams before and--" 

"And of course, claims of seeing a crime in a dream is often just a cover for other--" 

"Do you mind if I finish my thought, Agent Scully?" Mulder's voice was sharp as he turned back to her. 

Scully blinked in surprise and Mulder started to feel bad, but then stopped himself. Her tone had been dismissive and he was tired of being dismissed. After a moment's pause, she nodded slowly. The Sheriff and Deputy exchanged looks at the sudden tension flare between the two agents. 

"Remote viewing?" the Sheriff asked to get the conversation rolling again. 

Mulder turned his attention back to the locals. "There have been experiments to show that information can be exchanged mentally after the receiver is placed in an altered state of consciousness. Usually this is done with hypnosis and with a sender attempting to transmit certain information to a receiver. But there has also been research to see if information can be gained without requiring the altered state and without a sender." 

"You mean like mind reading?" Deputy Simmons asked with an edge to his voice, clearly not liking the way that this conversation was going. As Mulder looked at him, he could see that he thought that they'd requested help from the FBI and had gotten Siegfried & Roy instead. This wasn't an unusual reaction, so it didn't bother him greatly. 

"No, not really. Remote viewing experiments often involve the seeing of inanimate objects. There is no human sender. For example, a series of photographs will be left in an empty room and the receiver will try to target what is on the photograph. It's like looking at a picture in their mind. The Government was very interested in this technique in light of its ongoing espionage programs. Several thousand such trials have been conducted over the past twenty-five years, involving hundreds of participants. The cumulative database strongly indicates that information about actual scenes and events can be perceived." 

The Sheriff appeared to be digesting this information a moment. Mulder knew that resigned look. The Sheriff wasn't as dubious as his Deputy, but he still didn't much like the answers he was getting. But if this was the help the FBI sent him, there wasn't much he could do about it. "So what are you going to do?" he asked. 

"Right now I just want to talk to him, get a feel for what he's seeing. There are some tests I'd like to ask him to cooperate with." Mulder turned to Scully, now feeling a bit contrite about his earlier snarkiness and he tried to make amends. "Agent Scully is also a medical doctor and a forensic specialist. Her knowledge and input are invaluable to these investigations." He smiled a little at her. "There's no one better at getting dead men to tell tales." 

Scully smiled briefly in return, still a little taken aback by his earlier retort, but willing to let it go and move on. She was going to have to find out what was going on in his head, she thought. But now wasn't the time. She turned her attention back to the Sheriff. 

"Sheriff, do you know this Tristan Hunt? I mean from before all this?" 

"Yeah, he's lived here all his life. I know him mostly by sight, I mean. He's never been in any trouble, but you know that from the reports. Mostly, he was always the guy who called me from the bar when we needed to go in and break up a fight or deal with a drunk. The gay thing was a hell of a surprise, but this ain't exactly a town where you can pursue that lifestyle in the open, if you know what I mean." 

Deputy Simmons continued. "We interrogated him damn hard and there was never one single crack in his story. Not one. Now that's unusual, because as you know, even people that are innocent forget things or get things mixed up. Whatever his story is, he's covering it up damn well. But we'll get the little bastard, eventually." 

Mulder was annoyed at Simmons' manner and words. As he looked at him, he saw a contempt for this young man that bespoke a hostility beyond a murder investigation. But before he could say anything, the Sheriff spoke again. 

"Agents, this is a small town; I don't have the staff or the funds to put a tail on this guy twenty-four hours a day. The coroner is way the hell over in Casper and like I said, shit like this just doesn't happen here." 

Mulder turned his eyes away from the hard stare of Deputy Simmons. "Well, it seems to be happening here now, Sheriff. And maybe you're busy concentrating on the wrong suspect while the right one is planning his next murder." Out of the coroner of his eye, he saw Simmons' face go dark with anger and Mulder felt nicely pleased that his shot had struck home. 

Simmons got up. "I have reports to write." And with a curt nod to the Sheriff, he left the room. 

Just as he exited, the receptionist stuck her head in the room. "Tristan Hunt is here." 

"Ask him to wait in the briefing room for us." Sheriff Carmichael turned back to the Agents. "You ready to talk to him now?" 

"Let's do it," Scully answered. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tristan Hunt literally sat on the edge of his seat, looking around the briefing room of the Sheriff station, trying to quell the feeling of wanting to bolt out of the room. He pushed his long hair out of his eyes and felt morosely grateful that at least they hadn't stuck him back inside the interrogation room with no windows. He'd spent over ten hours in that room as the deputies took turns bearing down on him, questioning everything, making him repeat and repeat and repeat until he was crazy with it. They tore at him on every level they could think of. They tried to trip him up with every word he uttered. They'd beat him up emotionally, little caring that he was already so close to going insane that just going home and blowing his brains out to end the torment in his head was looking pretty good. At one point confession almost seemed like a good idea, anything to get them to shut up. Anything to get them to leave him alone. 

And still no one believed him. They didn't care about the ugliness he was seeing and the terror he felt or that he was afraid to be asleep or even be alone or in the dark. He'd come to them for help and instead, they'd invaded the sanctuary of his home, the only place he could be himself. Now his well-kept secret was out. It was not only out; it was in the papers and on the lips of every gossip in town. Now the people in his own hometown couldn't decide if being a suspected murderer or a known homosexual was worse. 

Either way, he was fucked. He was not only outed; he was outcast and totally on his own now. He'd abandoned that useless court-appointed attorney who'd just kept telling him to keep his mouth shut. Somehow, Tristan knew that keeping his mouth shut just might eventually get him sent to prison for these murders. But he also knew that every word offered them was just more opportunity to hang this all on him. 

He was in over his head and drowning fast. He needed help. 

He got up and looked out the window that faced west. It was late afternoon and the sun felt warm on his face. He thought about California again. He'd never been there, never even been out of the state. But he wanted to see the ocean, he wanted to walk in the crunchy sand and feel the salt-water lap on his feet. He wanted to get the hell out of here. He'd been "requested" not to leave town but his own reasons for staying were selfish. He had to get these visions out of his head and running away wasn't going to do that. 

But God, he just wanted to get out of here and see the ocean. Was that too much to ask? 

He heard the door open behind him and turned back around. Into the room stepped Sheriff Carmichael, followed by a woman, a pretty redhead in a black suit and sensible shoes. When she met his eyes, her face was a calm, professionally composed mask. After her, in walked a brown-haired man who was about his height, but a more slender build. He was outrageously handsome and wearing an expensive suit. 

But unlike the woman, when Tristan met the man's eyes, he nodded to him. There was no smile, but the simple acknowledgment of his existence made him feel a little more at ease for some reason. They all approached each other cautiously, meeting in the center of the room over the conference table like gunfighters at the OK corral. 

Sheriff Carmichael made the introduction. "Mr. Hunt, this is Agent Mulder and Agent Scully from the FBI." The Sheriff didn't indicate which agent was which, although Tristan didn't expect that it mattered much. They were all the same in the end. The woman extended her hand to him and he took it. He then took the hand offered by the man and again, the man looked at him instead of through him. 

"Mr. Hunt, thank you for coming down to talk with us," the redhead told him. 

"Like I had a choice." 

She ignored the dig. "Why don't we sit down." 

They all sat across the table from each other. Tristan by himself on one side with the other three facing him. The man dropped a notebook on the table, leaned forward, and folded his hands on top of it. Tristan found himself looking at them. They were large with slender fingers; a city boy's hands, unmarked by hard manual labor. But strong looking still. Then Tristan heard the man speak to him for the first time, drawing his eyes back up to his face. 

"Mr. Hunt, we've come to talk to you about what you've been seeing." 

Tristan sighed as he just focused back on the agent's hands on the table. God he was tired, but he couldn't sleep, he couldn't rest. It took him a long time to work up the energy to answer. "I don't know what more you think I can tell you." 

"I've read the reports, but I want to hear your version." 

Tristan lifted his gaze and looked at the two agents as they waited. His years as a bartender had helped him learn to size up people quickly; who was going to be trouble and who wasn't. 

He noticed that the redhead's careful professional mask had slipped a bit in response to his earlier sarcasm. She's a problem, he thought, she's made her mind up, she thinks I'm involved. He then looked over at the man, who stared resolutely back at him, meeting his eyes in a way people didn't do much of anymore. 

This one is more open. Not a fool, but maybe willing to listen. But then again, he was tired, he could be wrong and he couldn't afford to make any mistakes here with these people.

"Mr. Hunt?" 

The woman's voice interrupted his thoughts, drawing his attention back over to her as he realized that he'd held the hazel-eyed man's gaze for a long time. "Mr. Hunt, do you have something to tell us?" she asked.

Did he? He looked back at man who nodded to him. Feeling slightly encouraged for reasons he didn't quite understand, Tristan began to tell his story one more time. 

The man and the woman both took notes. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mulder watched Tristan Hunt's body language as he talked. Body language told volumes and Hunt exhibited none of the mannerisms that his experience told him were indicative of a liar. The young man was under high stress, but not because he was hiding something. It seemed to be more a frustration because he couldn't get anyone to take him seriously. 

And he clearly didn't expect to be taken seriously here. 

He looked younger in person, Mulder thought. His long dark black hair was slightly mussed and he pushed it out of his eyes often. That gesture was telling. He'd seen suspects, male and female, use their hair as a veil, hiding behind it, bowing their heads and peering out so that people couldn't see them. 

But Tristan Hunt had no trouble meeting them in the eye. His eyes were so dark brown they seemed almost black, and they stared back at him directly. A little too intently actually; Mulder almost felt like he was the one being sized up rather than the other way around. 

He looked like he hadn't shaved that day and his clothing was rather haphazard. A white cotton shirt that had been new ten years ago, clean but completely ratty. He wore it loose and untucked over jeans whose holes came from time and wear, not because he'd bought them that way in a trendy store. He wore work boots that looked to be about as old as the shirt, something he found comfortable and wasn't about to give up on. He was very handsome and yet not the least concerned about showing it off. That too, was telling, Mulder thought. 

The story he told was pretty much what Mulder expected to hear. 

He'd had the first dream almost two months ago. At first, he hadn't even realized that they meant anything. He'd simply thought it was just a nightmare. He'd awakened in the middle of the first one, sweating from the effort of trying to force his way out of the dream. 

"You know how when you're dreaming and you keep telling yourself to wake up, because you know it's not real?" Tristan asked and Mulder nodded. "It was that kind of thing at first. I just put it out of my mind and went back to sleep. In the morning I only had vague recollections of it, like any other dream." 

"When did you connect them to the murders?" Scully asked. 

Tristan looked over at her. "Like I said, I wasn't having them all the time. I hadn't even realized that someone had been killed at about the same time. I just thought they were a nightmare. Then I kept having the same dream over and over and that's when I found the body at the quarry." 

"And you still haven't seen anything that would give you an indication of who might be doing this?" 

He shook his head. "What I see isn't like a movie. It's like a still photograph. But I only see them after they're dead, where they are." 

Mulder sat forward a little bit. "Mr. Hunt, would you be willing to be hypnotized?" 

The brown eyes stared at him with suspicion. "Hypnotized? What for?" 

"Sometimes hypnotism can help you remember details that your conscious mind is having trouble with." 

Tristan didn't like the sound of that. He didn't know much about it, but it all sounded like something that they would use to get him to incriminate himself somehow -- Maybe he needed that lawyer back after all. Shit, these people weren't even going to give him a chance. "I've told you everything I've seen. It won't help." 

But the man persisted. "Have you ever been hypnotized?" 

"No." 

"Well, let me explain to you how it works--" 

"I don't need you to explain anything. It won't help, it's just psychobabble bullshit." 

The room fell quiet at this outburst and after a moment, the redhead leaned over and whispered something in the lanky one's ear. He said something back to her quietly and although they were only right across the table, Tristan couldn't hear what was being said, it was as though their low tones were something only the two of them could hear. The two agents stared at each other a moment and Tristan sensed a conflict in the air. After a moment the man nodded and the woman turned back to him. "Mr. Hunt, would you be willing to let me conduct some medical tests?" 

Tristan sighed. Jesus Christ, what was this? "What kind of tests?" 

"An EEG, an MRI. I want to see if we can detect any unusual brain patterns or something else that might explain what you say is happening to you." 

Suddenly Tristan smiled, but it was full of sarcasm. "What? You think I have a brain tumor that's suddenly causing all this? I saw that movie; it didn't end well. No thanks." 

She looked at him steadily, clearly losing patience. "Mr. Hunt, the bottom line here is that in spite of what you're claiming to see, so far, we still don't have anything that will lead us to the person or persons committing these murders." 

Tristan, equally impatient, pushed his chair back. "Well, I guess that's it then isn't it?" he said as he stood up. "So since we're done here, I need to get to work." Tristan picked up his jacket and headed towards the door.

But the man's voice followed him. "Mr. Hunt, all we want is to help find the killer." 

Tristan turned around at the last remark, staring down the man. "No, I think what you want is to help me find my way into life in prison without possibility of parole," he said angrily. "Sorry, but I'm not ready to become the boy-toy of some con named Bruno just yet." 

Tristan watched as the man now stood up, came around the table, and walked towards him. As he approached, oddly enough, Tristan saw that his expression in response to his outburst was sympathetic rather than the antagonistic manner he'd come to expect from the Law enforcement around here. He wasn't quite sure what to make of that. Was he being played? "I'd like to talk to you some more about this," the man requested as he approached, looking him directly. When he didn't reply, he added in the same quiet tone from earlier, "I want to help you, Mr. Hunt." 

For a moment, Tristan just stared back at him, his eyes narrowing slightly. God, he'd been praying for those words. But now as he heard them, as much as he wanted to believe, he also had to consider the possibility that he was being played for a fool. He turned and opened the door to leave, but then hesitated. Shit. He needed help; he knew that. There was only the slimmest chance that he could trust this man. But his only other alternative was to keep forging ahead on his own and look where that had gotten him. But there was no reason to believe--

"Mr. Hunt?"

Thoughts broken; Tristan focused back to the man who waited patiently. As he looked into quiet hazel eyes, he both took a both deep breath and a leap of faith. "I'm at the bar between six and two. Things slow down after eleven on a weeknight." 

The man nodded. And with that, Tristan walked out of the Sheriff's station. Still a free man. For now anyway. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mulder watched the door swing shut after the departing man, then turned back and looked at his partner. "That went well, don't you think, Scully?" 

Scully quite used to things going just about that well, sighed a little as she shook her head and stood up. 

Sheriff Carmichael looked at the two of them; He'd clearly been hoping for a little more progress. "Now what?" he asked. 

Scully answered first. "I have an appointment tomorrow morning at the coroner's office back in Casper." 

"And I want to look over the crime scenes tomorrow. I'm going to see if I can get Mr. Hunt to go with me," Mulder answered. 

The Sheriff snorted. "Good luck." 

Mulder shook his head. "He's scared, Sheriff. He's afraid of what he's seeing, he's scared because he's a suspect, and he's scared because he knows everyone is wondering about him. He has no reason to trust or cooperate with us. But if we can get him past that fear, he may have more answers than he thinks." 

The Sheriff shrugged, not at all convinced. 

Mulder and Scully made their farewells and headed for their motel. They checked in to their respective rooms, called into the office, checked their email, changed clothes, and met for dinner at a diner directly across the street where the food was surprisingly good. After dinner, Scully wanted to head back to the motel since she had a long drive tomorrow and she had files to review further and they agreed that Mulder would go on to talk with Tristan Hunt on his own. So Mulder dropped his partner off at the motel and headed down the short distance to the bar where Tristan Hunt worked. It turned out to be so near the motel he could have walked. 

Mulder entered the small tavern a little before eleven and as Hunt had said, it wasn't terribly crowded. He looked around feeling instantly out of place among the truckers and local ranchers. A jukebox was playing some country song that Mulder didn't recognize; not that he had a clue about country music. If someone had a gun to his head, he could probably name off Garth Brooks but that would be about the extent of his knowledge of the genre. 

Mulder crossed the room and sat down at end of the long bar. The barmaid, a very pretty blond, saw him and perked up quite noticeably as she headed over. Mulder was aware that on occasion some women, certain short redheads excepted, seemed to actually find him attractive and for a moment he wondered about the possibility of getting laid in Wind River, Wyoming. It might be nice to be able to say he'd closed out the decade by getting laid twice. Hell, once every five years should be enough for anybody, he didn't want to be greedy. 

Of course, with his luck, this one was probably a werewolf in her spare time. 

Besides, he had work to do. Fuck. Didn't he always? 

The blond favored him a dazzling smile. "Hey, handsome. Can I do something for you?" Her voice was positively lilting. 

"I need to speak with Tristan Hunt." 

"He's in the back, but I can surely get you a drink, honey." 

She leaned over the bar a little to provide him with a better view of her rather imposing breasts and Mulder realized that even in a Podunk town a plastic surgeon could probably make a great living. Unlike many of his gender, he'd never really been a big-tit fan. Indeed in the videos he was so fond of, he often found the huge triple-D silicone, or whatever the fuck they were using now, boobs to be a bit coarse rather than sensual. He'd always found a good-sized handful or mouthful the most appealing, not something that could double as floatation devices. He even had a slight PC guilt that his fellow males had created a world in which women of low self-esteem were driven to major surgery to achieve what they had been convinced was the ideal. 

But even so, he had to admit that these were an impressive matched set. He forced himself to raise his eyes back up to her face.

"I'm June. And if you'll just tell me what you'd like, I'll get it for you." She was practically purring. "Maybe you're a bit hungry, we offer all kinds of nibbles." 

She smiled for him again and her tone left no doubt as to what she'd like to nibble. Mulder was pretty sure he wouldn't have any balls left by the time she was done and he felt a quickening deep in his groin. Good Lord. 

Mulder swallowed, "Ah, I just had dinner, thanks." 

"Well, I'm sure we have something here that you might want." 

Just then, Tristan came out of the back room, carrying some liquor bottles. When he saw the FBI man, he stopped up short in surprise before continuing his approach. His first thought was that he really hadn't expected him to show up. 

And oh, God, he's fucking gorgeous, was his second. 

He noted the man had changed and was wearing just a dark gray T-shirt and jeans. He looked much younger and much less threatening in that get-up. And hot. Very, very hot. Nice arms. Long legs. He could hardly blame June for trolling big time, just looking at this guy hurt. But even so, he knew it was a useless emotion for himself, his Gaydar was never wrong. 

Shit. Why are all the good ones straight? 

Of course, why did he have to be gay in a state where anything that even remotely resembled a gay community was in Casper, almost ninety miles away? And you could hardly even call it a community; it was more like a couple bars and clubs. Basically, driving four hours round trip to get fucked was, well, fucked. And why didn't something gay that looked that hot ever come into this damn bar? 

Tristan's thoughts shifted out his self-pity mode and he again wondered just how far he could trust this guy. His life had spun out of control and he couldn't make it stop. He'd thought that by talking about the dreams, by helping, it would all go away. But it hadn't; in fact, he'd only make it worse. 

And now all he wanted was for this all to be over. He needed someone to help him make this all be over. And this man said he wanted to help. 

But could he trust him with his life? 

Tristan came up behind the barmaid and patted her ass affectionately as he put the bottles down. "June, honey, would you mind not resting your hooters on the bar? I just wiped up the drool from the last one." 

June looked up at him and smiled, completely un-insulted. "Just trying to service the customers, Tris." 

"This ain't a customer. He's from the FBI." 

Mulder watched as June's face changed and her friendliness disappeared. "You don't have to put up with them hassling you here. You want me to get Robbie to throw his ass out?" Without waiting for an answer, she turned and motioned to a man who sat on a stool at the opposite end of the bar. 

Mulder followed her look to a rather unfriendly-looking man who seemed a foot taller and four feet wider even from here. He glared in their direction, got up and lumbered over, getting bigger as he approached. "I'm the manager, is there a problem?" he asked in the least customer service-oriented voice Mulder had ever heard. 

Mulder looked up at the hulk towering over him. Shit, was he about to get his ass kicked in a redneck bar? Scully would die laughing. "Look, I'm--" 

But Tristan interrupted him. "No, it's cool, Robbie. He's just here for a drink." Tristan now looked directly at Mulder for the first time and Mulder could see he was actually amused. Fucking little bastard. 

Robbie looked at Tristan, then nodded and wandered back to his barstool perch. 

Tristan turned back to him. "So, you here for a drink or to pick at my brain some more?" 

"We can start with a beer." 

"Draft?" 

"You got Tecate?" Tristan nodded and moved off get the beer. June however, just fixed him with a hard look. Though not much older than Tristan, she was now a blond mother-bear. 

"What?" Mulder asked in exasperation. 

She nodded at Tristan. "That boy didn't do anything. He didn't kill any of those people." 

"That may very well be true. Actually I think it is." 

June looked surprised and slowly some of her bluster left. She leaned forward. "What are you going to do about that?" 

"The only way I know how to help him is to find the person who is doing the murders. The problem is that right now, Mr. Hunt seems to be the only person who can help us do that." 

June sighed at the circular logic. "A lot of the people in this town have been real shit heads. Tris has never done a thing to deserve any of it. I can't believe how they've turned on him. His personal life is his own." She glanced down toward Tris at the other end of the bar, leaned towards Mulder a little and whispering. "I mean, if he's funny that way...you know...it don't make him a murderer." 

Mulder nodded, as he understood that her heart was in the right place even if her PC phrasing was a little off. Just then, Tristan returned with his beer. June patted him affectionately and moved off to talk to the large Robbie, who brightened considerably upon her return when she smiled at him. 

Mulder sighed. Oh sure, even burly lumberjacks with three teeth could do better than him. Tristan set the beer on the bar in front of him. "Three bucks." 

He dug in his pocket and paid the man. "You have an ally," Mulder told him, nodding in June's direction as he took a drink of his beer. 

He saw Tristan genuinely smile for the first time ever as he followed his glance. "June? Yeah. Unlike most of the people in this town, she doesn't damn me with a lie and she doesn't damn me with the truth." 

"The truth?" 

Tristan Hunt's smile now turned scornful as he looked back at him. "You've heard of a one-horse town? Well, this is a one-fag town and you're looking at him." 

Mulder didn't know how to answer that. In fact, the whole topic made him uncomfortable. He knew what it was like to be the odd man out in a small town, to feel isolated and shunned. But of course, this really wasn't the same situation at all. People didn't commit hate crimes against you simply because you believed your sister was taken by aliens. No one beat you to a pulp, then hauled you out, tied you to a fence, and left you to die slowly of exposure because you believed in government conspiracies and they didn't.

But even so, whether the cause was circumstance or ignorance, the end result was still isolation. 

So instead of answering, he took another swig of icy beer. God, it tasted especially good for some reason. It had been a long, long time since he'd just sat at a bar among regular people and had a drink and it gave him a moment to plan how to best approach Hunt about getting Hunt to trust him.

"Can I ask you something?" Tristan's voice interrupted his thoughts. 

Mulder nodded as he set the beer down, and wiped his lower lip with his thumb, not noticing that Tristan watched that movement intently. "What?" 

"Are you Mulder or are you Scully?" Tristan watched as the handsome man looked puzzled for a moment before the realization dawned on him. Then just a small gleam of humor crossed into his eyes. It looked nice on him. 

"I'm Mulder. Fox Mulder. My partner is Dana Scully." 

"Fox?" 

"Mulder. Just Mulder." 

"OK, fine. Mulder. So what do you want to talk about?" 

Before answering, Mulder took another drink of his beer and Tristan's gaze ran down his throat as he put his head back and swallowed. He swallowed hard too. All the good ones are straight, he reminded himself again. 

"Mr. Hunt, I don't think I really got an opportunity to fully explain what my partner and I do. We're part of the FBI, but we're a special unit that specializes in claims of strange phenomena." 

Tristian considered Mulder's statement a moment; again, this was not what he was expecting. Where the hell was this leading? "Like what?" he finally asked.

"Paranormal activity, poltergeist phenomena, alien sightings--" 

Tristan broke into Mulder's litany. "When you say alien sightings, you don't mean illegal immigrants, do you?" 

The agent shook his head and took another drink. Tristan's moment of hope began to die in his chest, bringing with it a feeling of despair and bitter disappointment. Shit. This guy was just here to prove he was a nut. He had been played and he'd been suckered in by his kind eyes and gentle voice earlier. Shit. 

Mulder looked up and saw the change in the young man's eyes. "Mr. Hunt, I know what you're thinking." At Tristan's challenging glare, he continued. "I know you think I'm here to prove you wrong. But, I’m here to prove you right. I believe that you're seeing what you claim." 

"Why should you believe me?" 

"Because it's what I do. And yours is not the first case like this I've seen." Mulder didn't tell Tristan that indeed, he'd had his own close experience with terrifying dreams.

Tristan wavered. "Your partner doesn't believe me. I can tell just looking at her." 

Mulder couldn't help but smile inwardly a bit. Whatever else he may be, Tristan Hunt was an intuitive guy. "Well, my partner always needs a little more hard evidence. But that's a damn good thing for you, Mr. Hunt, because frankly, all the courts care about is hard evidence. But Scully wants the same thing I want, even if our methods are different. So tomorrow she's going over to reexamine the available bodies and trace evidence over at the Natrona County coroner's office and I'm going to go reexamine the sites where the bodies were found." Mulder paused a moment. "I'd like you to go with me." 

Tristan shook his head. "No. I don't think I want to do that." 

"It would be in your best interests to cooperate here, Mr. Hunt--" 

"Oh, I tried that," Tristan answered sarcastically. "I was the good little dutiful citizen. And it got me made into a murder suspect. It got me arrested and watched and hounded. It got my personal life splashed in the papers. It got my home invaded and everything I own, all my books and letters and photos, pawed through and examined by strangers intent on proving I did something I didn't do. I've talked to cops and lawyers and doctors and now you. I've had quite enough of cooperating, thank you." 

Mulder pressed on, replying with equal intensity. "Well, then I don't need to tell you that Sheriff Carmichael is itching to tie you to these murders. And you're right, he doesn't believe for a second that you're not involved somehow. Considering that my partner and I aren't exactly the kind of help he was expecting, he's feeling pretty pissy at the moment. Now I know how you're feeling..." 

Tristan leaned his hands on the bar, his voice low and angry, his face in Mulder's. "You haven't got the slightest Goddamn idea how I'm feeling. In this town, gay people are the comic sidekicks on TV sitcoms and that's fine. But they sure as hell better not move in next door. They damn well better not live openly together or touch each other in public. They better not hold jobs where anyone knows. Gay people are not welcome to be out in this town, Agent Mulder. The only reason I've been able to keep this job is because most of customers are truckers who are passing through. They don't know." 

Mulder's stared back at Tristan, he took a long breath and his response was calm, trying to defuse the situation. "I didn't mean to imply that I understand what it's like to be gay in a small town, Mr. Hunt. Obviously, I don't. That's not what I meant at all. But I do know that you need help." 

Tristan looked at him hard before turning away. He needed to think things through a moment so he stepped away from the FBI agent. He walked over to the cooler and pulled out another Tecate. Against all odds, he wanted to believe this man meant him no harm and he wasn't sure why. Maybe he was just so desperate now that he was ready to grasp out for anything that looked like an outstretched hand. He walked back to Mulder and set the beer in front of him, taking the empty away. "No charge." 

Mulder nodded his thanks and took a drink, giving Tristan a bit of time. He watched the young man cross his arms and gaze off over the bar, his expression tired and worn. And Mulder again felt that his hunch about him was right. He was haunted by what was happening to him.

After a few minutes of silence, Tristan finally spoke softly. "You know, for most of my life in this town I've just been 'Tristan' and I worked hard to keep it that way, to fit in." He looked back a Mulder. "I mean, I was pretty much OK with just staying in my little closet and pursuing what little of my life that I could on the side and in the dark. But now I'm that 'fag bartender who's probably murderer too.' I can't go to the grocery store, rent a video or eat in a restaurant without the staring and whispering and pointing. People I've known all my life pull their children away if I pass too close. And of course, some of our more creative folks feel the need to send me hate mail and some detailed death threats. I've got myself a nice little collection going--only they can't decide if I should be dead because I’m a murderer or because I’m gay. And it's become abundantly clear that I'll never be just Tristan again; almost everything that was familiar about my life is gone now." 

Mulder looked up at the troubled young man, feeling frustrated at his plight. "I don't know what to say, Mr. Hunt. I'm sorry. I'm sorry this is happening to you. But I need you to help me. I can't do it alone and neither can you." Mulder paused and then tried again. "Will you at least meet me at the Sheriff's station tomorrow so we can talk some more about what's been happening?" 

And even as he wondered if he was making the biggest mistake of his life, Tristan nodded. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

An hour later, Mulder unlocked the door to his room at the motel, which was really a small L-shaped motor court that catered to truckers who stopped over on long transcontinental hauls. He glanced at Scully's window, which was about six doors down from his. Not surprisingly, her light was out. 

He opened his door, flipped on the overhead light that illuminated just another nondescript motel room. Not bad and not great. There was a sitting area with a window next to the door overlooking the front parking lot and then across the room there was a bed by another window that overlooked the back parking lot. 

Wow, a room with two views, how did he ever get so lucky? 

He wandered over to the TV and picked up the guide, hoping against hope. Oh yes, this dump had an adult channel, something he could probably thank the trucker clientele for. He needed something to wind down with. Of course, the beers he'd consumed in his effort to draw Tristan Hunt out were certainly helping there. After he'd gotten him to agree to meet him tomorrow, June had come back over. She'd proceeded to regale him with tales of small-town life during which more beers were consumed. He was feeling pretty good indeed, with a nice little seldom-felt buzz going. 

He closed the curtains and turned on the small air conditioner that spit out a nice breeze. He stripped his clothes off, wandered into the bathroom, and turned the shower on. As the steam began to rise, he stepped in and stood under the soothing flow. One of the few advantages of motels was the almost unlimited amount of warm water. It was too damn hot for a hot shower, but Mulder had a fastidious streak that demanded that hot water be used for cleansing.

He soaped down his body absently, wondering how he could possibly get young man out of the mess he was in. After today and this evening, he was more convinced than ever that he needed help, not persecution. 

But as he touched his body, thoughts of helping Tristan Hunt began to fade to be replaced with the need to satisfy other far more basic urges. The tension of the day left him feeling pent-up, in need of the release and fleeting bliss of orgasm, in need of the temporary amnesia it brought. 

He flipped the shower handle over to cool to rinse off, lowering his skin temperature, but doing nothing to diminish the erection forming as he touched himself, stroking slowly down to smooth the soap from his body. He got out of the shower and lightly toweled off his hair. He then ran the rough towel over his body, feeling the friction over his sensitized skin, digging into every nook and cranny. Tossing the towel aside, he brushed his teeth as though he was getting ready for a date. 

Yeah, with my right hand, he thought. 

He headed back into the bedroom area, remembering to bring a small hand towel with him. He moved to the bed and pushed off the ugly spread and blankets that it was far too hot for. He flopped his damp body down on the soft sheets, feeling the cool air from the fan waft over him, running over his skin like a gentle caress. Turning the light off, he grabbed the remote. He switched the TV on and joined the movie already in process. He settled back against the pillows, as the bluish light from the TV illuminated his body. 

As the picture snapped into place, he was treated to the sight of two women deeply engaged in cunnilingus. Ah, he thought, the two-chick love scene, the staple of all great pornography. Watching two women go at it was one of his favorite things and he settled himself back to enjoy the show. He closed his eyes a moment and listened to the sounds. Mulder liked the noises of sex; when he closed his eyes, the sounds could become almost anyone in his mind. 

He opened his eyes and looked down again at his body as his hands began to wander. He smoothed over his chest and then he idly began to caress one nipple, circling it with the two middle fingers of his hand. He twisted the nub slightly with his thumb and finger and watched it form a hardened peak. 

His body amazed him sometimes. How the nerve endings reacted to touch and could change shapes in response. He thought for a moment about what Scully had told him about nipples that morning, a useless piece of decorative flesh and yet he was definitely one of those men for whom they were a pleasure center. He continued to caress his body, slowly, and remembering only vaguely what it was like to have someone else touch him affection, with a desire to please. He licked the tips of his fingers and reapplied them to the nipple, recalling what it was like to have someone's tongue stroke and soothe over them. 

He trailed his right hand further down his body where he cupped his balls, rolling and squeezing gently at first and then with more pressure. He moved his hand and grasped on to his penis. He began to stroke the length of his penis, applying the usual and customary amount of friction. But tonight he was having trouble letting his mind go and concentrate on the matter at hand, or rather, in hand. While it certainly felt nice, things weren't solidifying up the way they usually did. 

He turned his eyes back to the action on screen, knowing it would help. As he watched the woman lick the other to a heated, moaning, orgasm a new thought crossed his mind. Did women enjoy watching men screw each other? Would Scully find it exciting to see someone as good looking as Tristan Hunt go at it with another guy instead of a woman? The idea seemed strange to him, but maybe he was just being sexist. 

But now that he thought about it, he realized he'd never seen two guys in a porn movie touch each other. There were plenty of scenes with two guys but there was always at least one woman sandwiched between them. Male flesh never touched male flesh. He knew there was gay porno, of course, but he'd never actually seen one. The catalogs and Internet sites that he availed himself of were oriented to the straight male. 

What was it like to watch two guys fuck each other? 

Mulder realized that his hand had stilled on his cock and that he'd completely lost his arousal concentration as his mind wandered. There was something infinitely weird about laying there thinking about the merits of gay porno while he clutched feebly at his own dick. He renewed his efforts, feeding his mind with the visual images before him, finally feeling the pressure within begin to build, as his penis finally grew stiffer within the circle of his hand. 

A man had now joined the young women on the bed. And of course, they immediately devoted their full attention to him. Mulder knew this was because in the view of most male porn filmmakers, there were no actual lesbians in the world. There were just beautiful babes who made do until a real man came along to screw them. 

The man in the movie was now getting a blowjob from one of the women while she was being finger-fucked by the other girl. As he watched the guy's cock slide in and out of the heavily lipsticked mouth, Mulder was pleased to see that his own penis was bigger. He never paid much attention to the dicks in the movies he watched except to do the obligatory size check. He usually won. 

But now, he watched the man's hard ass muscles flex and release, flex and release as he pumped into the woman's mouth and helpfully announced he was about to come so she could double her efforts in servicing him. Mulder stroked himself harder, trying, as he usually did, to come along with the actors, who of course were not necessarily really coming. God, he was close, so close.

The man's face contorted as his thrusting became even more aggressive into the mouth of the woman and Mulder felt his balls draw up as his own orgasm approached in response to his stimulation. It was right on the edge, just a few more pulls; he was almost there, almost there. Mulder's eyes narrowed as he kept his attention on screen as the first wave of his release started to swell. The man on screen threw his head back and came, grunting loudly, his face contorted in painful pleasure and pumping gobs into the mouth of the woman who took it all down with glee. 

Did Tristan Hunt look like that when he came with his dick in some guy's mouth? 

Jesus Christ, where the HELL had that thought come from? Mulder's hand stopped dead cold on his cock at the sudden picture in his head, but the orgasm that had started rolled right on through his body, flowing up his cock and out over his hand. He only made a soft grunting noise for Mulder was usually quiet when he masturbated, preferring to concentrate on the story he usually had going on in his head and the feelings building inside his body. He didn't feel the need to waste a lot of precious energy making noises that only he would hear. As his sperm splattered against his belly, his grip tightened and then relaxed back slowly. He lay there, spent, gently holding his cock, free floating. 

He concentrated back on the feeling in his body. It was the same as usual. He'd achieved release, but not the hard, deep pleasure satisfaction he remembered from when he was younger. His orgasms were simply not what they once were and they hadn't been for a long, long time. Somewhere along the way, they'd become complacent. Nice, pleasant, merely OK. 

Of course, Mulder knew that sexual responses were deeply tied to matters of self-esteem and personal worth. But those were things he didn't even want to begin to consider right now; he was way too tired for introspection. He sighed, taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly, feeling slightly downhearted. But even so, his body slowly relaxed into the heavy, post-orgasm lethargy and it appeared that it was going to let him sleep tonight so that was good. 

He took the hand towel and wiped himself clean. He picked up the remote and glanced up at the screen to shut the TV off. The man was kissing the woman who'd apparently just given him the blowjob of a lifetime. Mulder snapped the picture off, rolled over, and in the darkness, grasped one of the pillows into his arms, curling it close to his body. 

He missed being kissed after sex. 

Closing his eyes, he fell asleep almost immediately. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning, Mulder met Scully for breakfast before she dropped him off at Sheriff's station and headed off to Casper. 

Mulder met with Sheriff Carmichael in his office, where they were joined by Deputy Simmons who stared at him with smug satisfaction. "I understand that you and your partner got squat out of Hunt yesterday."

Mulder ignored the bait and turned to the Sheriff. "I talked to Tristan Hunt a little more last night. I was able to persuade him to come by and talk to us some more, I'm still hoping to get him to go out to the crime scenes." 

Mulder hesitated a moment. He knew he had to proceed slowly with local law enforcement and Scully was usually more tactful than he was, but something Tristan had mentioned last night had been weighing on him. "Sheriff, Mr. Hunt told me he'd been getting hate mail that's included some death threats." 

The Sheriff gave him a questioning look. "He didn't say anything to me." He glanced over at his Deputy. 

Simmons shrugged a little, unconcerned. "Yeah, he mentioned them." 

Mulder couldn't keep the edge out of his voice. "Have you done any investigation? Last I heard, threatening someone's life was a crime." 

"If people want to blow off a little steam, I can't stop them. We have a lot bigger things to worry about than that." 

"So you're just going to look the other way, Deputy? Hasn't tolerating that kind of social hate caused some awfully tragic events in this state in recent years?" 

The Deputy sat up with a flash of anger. "That's old news, Agent Mulder. What happened to that Shepard kid over at Laramie has nothing to do with this." 

Mulder's voice was rising. "No? Well, then did it ever occur to you to examine the letters for fingerprints or DNA or other evidence? It's not unheard of that one could actually be from the killer gloating over the fact that someone else is taking the blame." 

"That someone IS the murderer, Agent Mulder," the Deputy answered belligerently. 

"That's not how it works, Simmons, you don't pick out a suspect and then make the crime fit." Mulder looked at him coldly as it suddenly became so clear now. "You did it. You're Mr. Off-The-Record. You leaked it all to the press and the town grapevine, didn't you? You fingered him as the prime suspect, then divulged his personal life knowing the ramifications, all of it." 

The Deputy gave him a hard look, but didn't deny the accusation. "It served a purpose." 

"And that would be?" 

"To put pressure on him. Sooner or later, the little fucker will screw up. And I'll be there. I'll get both him and his accomplice. It's probably some other little fruit--" 

"That's enough." The Sheriff's voice was quiet, but the Deputy instantly shut up. 

Mulder knew that he had to get Tristan Hunt out of this mess somehow. 

=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--= 

Outside, Tristan arrived back at the Sheriff's station. They should just paint his name on one of the parking spaces, he thought. He wasn't sure why he was here other than the fact that he wanted to see Agent Mulder again. And if that wasn't insane enough, last night he'd had more nightmares last when he'd finally fallen asleep from exhaustion. 

God, he wanted this to be over. He just wanted to pay the fine and go home. 

He went inside and was shown to the briefing room again. A few minutes later, Agent Mulder arrived with the Sheriff behind him. Oh shit, that bastard Simmons was with him too. He'd been the one who'd pressed him the hardest and made sure that he knew that some little queer wasn't going to make a fool out of him. That man truly hated him for what he was, not because he thought he'd committed a murder. God knows what he'd been telling Agent Mulder about him. He didn't want Simmons to be here. 

Mulder saw the change in Tristan's face when he saw Simmons and he knew his presence was not going to be conducive to drawing the young man out. He'd have to figure a way around this. Mulder sat down across the table, noting that he looked tired and he knew that more dreams had kept him from sleeping. "Thanks for coming in, Mr. Hunt." 

Tristan nodded, then suddenly wanting to hear the Agent say his name he added, "You can call me Tristan." 

"Ok, Tristan." Mulder repeated the name back to him as people always do when given permission to use a first name and Tristan liked the way it sounded coming from him. "You had more dreams last night, didn't you?" 

How did he know that, Tristian wondered. He nodded and both Mulder and Sheriff sat up a little more, whereas Simmons gave a barely disguised snort. Tristan noticed that Mulder gave the deputy an irritated glance before turning back to him and opening his notebook.

"Can you tell me about it?" 

"This was a little different. I mean, it didn't involve anyone new, I... I don't think he's killed anyone for a while. But it was still different." 

"Different how? Tell me what you saw." 

"I saw the last man who died again. He was in a dark room; he was lying on the floor. There was blood everywhere. Before it was often like a still picture, like a slide show almost; not like a regular dream where you move and interact. But this was more like I was there, I could see more, but I couldn't hear anything." 

"When you say a dark room, do you mean a real room, like in a house? Or is it like a warehouse maybe?" 

Tristan shook his head. "It was dark, there seemed to be single light source shining on the person, like those old movies where someone is being interrogated. The guy was in the middle of the light and I couldn't see beyond the light. You know how when you're driving your car at night and you turn the light on inside? Like that." 

"Was he alive?"

"I don't think so, he was lying so still on the floor...the...the floor had dark stains on it from his blood."

"Is there anything else you remember?" 

Tristan closed his eyes a moment, concentrating. "The other images I got was just as I woke up. Somehow, I'd gotten from the dark room to the field. It was just as the sun was coming up it seemed and as the light come up it, I saw that I was standing over the man in the field with his face blown off and the blood and the gore...Oh Jesus..." Tristan looked away, disturbed by the picture that grew fresh in his mind as he talked about it.

The Sheriff started to say something but Mulder gave him a shake of his head. He then leaned back and let Tristan have a moment before he asked his next question. "Why do you think these dreams were different, Tristan? Why are you getting more detail?"

"I don't know, I've thought about it all morning. It's like I was there...watching. But I don't know why I have to watch--I don't want to." Tristan looked out the window. "I don't want to see what's happening to these men." 

Another nasty snort came from Simmons and Mulder felt his fingers tighten on the pen he was writing with. He concentrated back on the troubled young man. "I was wondering if you had given any more thought to what we talked about yesterday." 

Dark suspicious eyes looked back at him now. "You mean the hypnosis thing?" 

Mulder nodded and started to answer when Simmons butted in. 

"Look boy--this is horseshit and you're jerking us around here..." 

Mulder turned to him in irritation because now wasn't the time to play bush-league good cop-bad cop. "Officer Simmons--"

But Simmons plowed on, "He's full of crap and you are too, Agent Mulder. This guy is playing you; he's seeing exactly what he wants to see--" 

Tristan slammed his hand down on the table as he turned on the Deputy in anger. "What makes you think I'd WANT to see that?" he yelled, his voice cracking. He lowered his head onto his hands. "God, why would anyone want to see that?" 

Mulder was stunned at the outburst. Not at Tristan's anger, but because those were virtually the exact words he'd said to Scully once when she'd questioned the validity of his own nightmares. He knew that frustration.

Just then the receptionist opened the door and told the Sheriff he had a call waiting and he left the room. A moment later, Simmons rose to his feet, standing over Tristan. "What I meant, boy, is that you're seeing what you see because you were there." He leaned down next to Tristan; his voice low. "And it's only a matter of time until I can prove it, you little bastard. This is a game you're going to lose--Not all of us are fools." 

He gave a defiant look to Mulder, who'd risen to his feet in anger. After a brief stare-down, Simmons left the room, slamming the door as he went, leaving Tristan and Mulder alone. 

Mulder stared at the bowed head across the table from him as he slowly sat back down. He had to get Tristan out of this environment if he was going to reach him, get him to explore the depths of his own mind. He knew the horror of seeing something that you couldn't get your mind to turn away from, no matter how hard you tried. He knew the fear that the ugly thoughts and pictures entering your head unbidden could evoke. He knew the frustration of having no one understand or believe. He knew that aloneness. And it hurt him to see all that so raw and visible in another person. 

He saw more of himself in this young man than he cared to admit. 

Suddenly feeling awkward about his realization, he stood again and moved to the far corner of the room where there was a coffeepot. He started to pour himself a cup that he didn't really want. Behind him, he heard Tristan's voice again. 

"I'm sorry. I just want my life back," he said, his voice calmer now. 

Mulder set the pot down and turned back. Tristan was speaking from behind the shelter of his hands, his shoulders sagging in weariness. "I'm so tired," he said. "I just want to sleep and not see. I just want it to go away. I'm sorry." 

God, he was apologizing for being victimized. Mulder slowly crossed the room to stand next to him. He stretched out his hand, hesitated, and then completed the gesture, laying his large hand gently on the back of Tristan's bowed head, feeling the silky hair under his palm. No words, just offering the simple message that the young man huddled in the chair wasn't alone. 

Tristan felt the comforting contact from the man whose touch he'd wanted to feel so much. God, the gesture almost seemed like a small gift because for the first time he knew for sure that Mulder believed him. The relief came in a rush and it was all he could do to not turn and wrap his arms around Mulder's waist as he stood nearby. But he was mindful of where he was, he was mindful that the man wouldn't return the gesture or his feelings. He was mindful that he wasn't likely to get any of the things he needed. So, instead, he stayed motionless with his head in his hands and tried to calm his racing heart. 

Mulder looked down on the embattled young man with great empathy. He wanted to impart some hope to him, and knew of only one way, the truth. He crouched down by Tristan's chair as he moved his hand from Tristan's head to his arm, stopping himself when he realized that he'd been about to take the man's hand into his to pull it away from his face. Slowly he removed his hand from Tristan's forearm, not wanting to make it seem obvious. 

"Tristan," he asked softly for his attention. 

At the sound of Mulder's calm voice, Tristan slowly dropped his hands and turned his head, meeting Mulder's eyes, which were much too close for comfort and drawing him in further. God, he was just way too close. Seeing way too damn much. He took a deep breath. Jesus, this was as much a nightmare as the visions and just as consuming. He stared at Mulder's mouth, at that exquisitely beautiful mouth, made for the intimacy of a kiss. As if on cue, his lips moved.

"Tristan, if we can catch this guy and stop the murders, the visions and nightmares will go away." 

He shook his head impatiently. "How can you possibly know that?" 

"Because they did for me." 

Tristan was stunned as he stared back at Mulder's eyes, but his expression was serious, unsmiling. "This has happened to you? Weird shit like I've been seeing?" 

Suddenly and quite unaccountably, Mulder smiled at him; a goofy-assed smile that somehow didn't quite fit his face. It was the first that he'd seen from the man. Then a dark laugh snickered out as he shook his head at the question, looking at him with something that was like amusement. "Tristan, I've seen weird shit like you wouldn't even begin to believe." 

Mulder straightened back up, still chuckling to himself. But Tristan knew he wasn't laughing at him and that it was somehow a private joke that only Mulder understood. He watched as the agent crossed back to the table where the coffeepot sat and began to pour himself a cup. 

And Tristan found that he didn't like that he'd moved so far away from him. He observed Mulder as he stood at the coffee bar, trying to figure him out. He again noticed that the clothes he wore were finely tailored, of good quality. Stuff that Tristan knew was pretty expensive for a G-man to own. He'd taken off his suit jacket and under the crisp white shirt, he could tell his body was slender, yet well shaped. He had a nice long back tapering to a slim waist. Mulder shifted his weight to one leg, unconsciously showing off a fine curve of enticing ass. And God, those long, long legs. Tristan's attention again shifted from the visions in his head to the area below the waist as Mulder turned back to him and gestured to offer him a cup of coffee. 

God, he was just too fucking handsome, he thought. No singular feature on his face would be called conventionally handsome, but it all worked wonderfully together somehow. And what would it be like to have those long legs wrapped around him as he moved hard and deep into his body? What would he be like to fuck? 

Tristan mentally slapped himself. Shit, what the hell was he thinking? He was fighting for his life here--for his sanity. And here he was getting horny for a gorgeous FBI agent; a man who was here expressly to pin seven murders on him. 

But even as he thought the words, he knew they weren't true. He knew he was still clinging to a self-imposed barrier and failing miserably. He met Mulder's eyes and shook his head at the offer of coffee. 

Mulder came back over and sat across from him. "I would like to revisit some of the places where the bodies were found. I would like you to go with me. I'd like to start with the quarry where you found the first body." 

"I don't know why you think going out to the quarry is going to help. The cops have been all over it." 

Mulder didn't tell Tristan the whole truth, which was that he wanted to see Tristan's reactions to the quarry. Since he hadn't been able to get him to agree to the hypnosis yet, he wanted to observe Tristan in a setting where he might have better recollection, away from here. 

"I just want to see it, something can always be missed," he answered. "And there's no reason for the Sheriff or the Deputy to go." Mulder smiled again a bit. "I'm sure Simmons is too busy dropping his white hood off at the dry cleaners." 

After a moment, Tristan laughed and nodded his head. 

Within a half-hour, they were in Tristan's jeep heading outside of town. It was a hot day, well into the eighties in temperature. When they reached the trail, Tristan pulled over. They got out and Tristan went around to the back and got out a couple of bottled waters that they'd picked up at the gas station. As he came back around, he stopped up short when he saw Mulder sliding off his coat and tossing it on the back seat. Just a slight breeze ruffled his hair and he was one of the few people that Tristan had ever seen whose skin looked good in direct sunlight. The FBI man then proceeded to pull his tie off, unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt, then started to roll up the sleeves. Tristan swallowed hard. Oh please, keep going, he thought. 

Mulder looked up in time to see the strange look on Tristan's face. "What?" 

Tristan was embarrassed at being caught drooling and decided go on the offensive. Why should he be the only one to feel so damn off-kilter? "Nothing, I was just enjoying a real GQ moment in the making." 

"A what?" Mulder looked confused as he took the water Tristan handed him. 

"Do you have any clue how fucking sexy you are?" Tristan laughed a little. "No, of course you don't. Your sexuality is completely natural; it's completely unconscious. You don't try at all." 

Mulder was now looking at him in a slightly horrified manner. He was practically squirming. "Am I making you uncomfortable?" Tristan asked in a deliberately innocent voice. 

It took a moment for Mulder to answer. "Yes...Very." 

"Sorry. It was just an observation. Come on, the quarry is this way." Tristan turned and headed off towards the path. He'd gone a few feet and noticed that Mulder hadn't followed him yet. He turned back around to see the man just staring at him. "Come on," he said nodding his head towards the hillside. "You're the one who wanted to see this place." And he turned and headed on up the trail. 

Mulder stared after Tristan, fully aware that he was being mind-fucked and reaction-tested. He knew that Tristan was playing with the insane and yet deep-rooted fear of straight men that somehow "gayness" would rub off on them if they were in proximity to a homosexual. He was testing him to see if he would turn tail and run. 

But the problem was that he was far from running. In fact, the idea that Tristan found him attractive pleased him on a level so fundamentally deep that it scared him. Jesus, what was the deal with that? Mulder gripped his bottle of water and followed Tristan up the trail. 

The heat of the day felt good. Mulder hated the cold. After nearly freezing to death at both the north and south poles, he'd had quite enough of cold weather. The summer day agreed with him just fine. 

They walked in silence for quite some time before Tristan spoke again. "I'm sorry about jerking your chain back there, I guess I was expecting more of the reactions I've gotten around here lately." 

"Why have you stayed in Wind River, Mr. Hunt? You're smart, you could make something of yourself somewhere else. There are places that are more...tolerant." 

"It's Tristan." He took his time in answering. "I suppose because I don't know that 'out there' is any better than right here. I guess because a known situation is better than an unknown." 

Mulder nodded; he could understand that. He'd felt much the same way before he went off to Oxford. He'd been unhappy where he was, and yet it was familiar. He knew the way around the emotional land mines in his life. Going off to live in another country, where he'd never been and knew no one had been one of the most difficult things he'd ever done. It was uncharted territory. 

They reached the quarry and Mulder looked down over the lake. It was beautiful here. Living in the city, you could forget about nature occasionally. It looked to be a cool, calm place. Tranquil except for the fact that a brutally murdered body had been discovered here. He walked to the edge of the water. 

"So you said you and your friends used to come up here?" 

"Oh yeah. All of the kids from the town come up here. We used to swim, hang out after school." Tristan looked out over the blue lake and shrugged a little. "Make all our big plans." 

Mulder turned back to him. "Big plans?" 

"The big dreams of little kids in a little town." He laughed a little as he joined Mulder at the edge of the lake. "My friend Bret was going to be a rock star, but of course he's a mechanic at the gas station, with a wife and two kids. Robbie was going to be a pro football player. He manages the bar where I work." 

"And what was your plan?" 

Tristan looked a little reluctant, almost embarrassed. He looked away over the water, squinting in the bright sunlight. "I wanted to go to California and work in the movies. I mean in like the special effects stuff. I like computers." He shrugged, "But I'm a bartender in Wind River. I'm just like Robbie and Bret. A nobody going nowhere." 

Mulder was concerned about the fatalistic tone. "You make it sound like it's too late to go to California. You're only twenty-three for Christ's sake. When this is over you can still go." 

Tristan turned now and looked at him, "Are you what you wanted to be when you grew up?" he asked with a defensive edge. 

Mulder was taken aback for a moment by his question. This was something he'd not much thought about for good reason. But while the story between twelve and thirty-seven was too long and too complex to relate, the answer was really quite simple. 

"No. No, I'm not. But I’m what I need to be." 

To Mulder's surprise, Tristan smiled gently at his admission; not in triumph, but with kind commiseration as he nodded in understanding. "And what plans did you leave behind, Agent Mulder?" 

Mulder was actually tempted to tell him. But instead, he just shook his head. "It doesn't matter." He wanted to turn the focus away from himself. Discussing lost boyhood dreams with this man was not why he'd brought him out here. He returned to the reason for their visit. "Where did you find the body?" 

Tristan's face changed. He turned away and led Mulder over to the spot where he'd found the body. He described how, in the dream, he'd seen bits of the surrounding areas. Almost like photographs. It had taken him a long time to remember where it was and make the pieces fit. As they talked, Mulder again mentioned the hypnosis. While not agreeing to it, Tristan seemed a little more responsive to the idea. Mulder wondered if perhaps yet another sleepless night had just made him more desperate or if maybe he trusted him a little more now. 

"I just don't see how the hell putting me to sleep will bring you any more information than I've given you, I've told you everything I've seen." 

"But your dreams are unfocused. A therapist can just help you center that focus. Hypnosis is really not a sleep state, though it would appear to be at first glance. And really, it's just self-hypnosis ultimately, the therapist just acts as a guide. You're in control." 

"But it's a trance thing, right?" 

"The brain waves do slow down passing from the beta to alpha stages and even the theta stage during deep trance. But in a lot of ways, it's not much different from the same feeling of meditative state we feel while listening to music, or reading a good book. Have you ever cried during a movie?" 

Tristan looked at him strangely. "I bawled my eyes out during 'Old Yeller'. I hate it when they kill the dog in a movie." 

Mulder gave a small laugh. "Me too. But that's what I mean. You knew that the dog didn't really die. But you focused in on what you were seeing and you felt the little boy's pain as though it was your own. And yet you were in total control. You knew you could turn the movie off or walk away if you choose to. The power is still all yours. Hypnosis gives you control to understand, it doesn't take it away. When you were out here trying to find this place the first time, you knew that the answer was in your dream and you were able to finally put the bit of remembered dream with something you recognized. Hypnosis might help you do more of that more efficiently." 

Tristan listened closely and considered this a moment. "How is it done?" he asked finally. 

"There's a lot of different ways, but generally, the use of progressive relaxation inductions can often be the most successful. Facilitators often use a relaxation technique which has you imagine being in a safe or peaceful place; then they help guide the subject through their memories and then awaken them back to full consciousness. But there are many different methods and people will respond differently to each." 

Looking at him, Tristan believed that Mulder didn't intend to bring him any harm and that he truly thought this was a tool that might help. "Can you do it?" 

"I've been trained, but it should be done by someone who is really a specialist, I know someone we can--" 

"No, I want you to do it." 

Mulder shook his head. "No, it's not appropriate for me to do it." 

"Why the hell not?" 

"Because I'm conducting an investigation. Like it or not, you're a suspect in the eyes of a lot of people. It needs to be a third party." 

"I don't want some stranger digging around in my head." Tristan was getting increasingly upset. 

"I can't do it, Tristan. The session should be recorded; it needs to be done by a professional. I can't--" 

"SHIT!" Tristan walked away a moment in frustration. He stood looking over the lake as Mulder watched him run his hands through his long hair, before he turned back. "I don't trust anyone else." 

As Mulder looked at Tristan, he weighed his lesser evils. What Tristan was asking him to do bordered on unethical. It had been many years since he'd done any sessions. He knew what to do; he'd had extensive training to facilitate his own interest. But this was something else entirely. 

But he knew that one of the most important psychological factors was the trust of the person being hypnotized and that person's desire to remember. It could make all the difference; it could save someone's life. He had to try.

"If I show you how it's done, will you consider letting a therapist work with you further?" 

It took him a moment, but Tristan finally nodded his acquiescence to Mulder's bargain. 

"OK then. Come over here." He motioned them over to a shaded area under a large tree as Tristan followed him. It was a quiet afternoon, one of those beautiful, glad-to-be-alive days. Warm sun, slight breeze, blue skies with clouds. This was as good a place as any to do this. Tristan sat down cross-legged and settled back against the tree. Mulder sat down facing him. 

"Relax back against the tree and just let your hands rest in your lap." Tristan did as he was instructed. "Now look at me." He raised his eyes and met Mulder's gaze. 

"All right, I want you to fix your eyes right here." Mulder took the index finger of his right hand and pointed to his eyes. His voice took on a low soothing tone and a rhythmic cadence as he began to speak. "I want you to look right here. Don't take your eyes from mine. Don't move or speak or nod your head or say 'uh-huh' until I ask you to. If you'll follow me, you can enter a very deep and pleasant state of hypnosis in just a few moments." 

Tristan stared into Mulder's eyes as he was instructed, the sound of his voice was seductive and warm, drawing him in. 

"Now, take a deep breath and fill up your lungs. That's right." Mulder inhaled deeply himself as he raised his right hand and made a fist. "Now exhale." As Tristan exhaled, Mulder released his closed fist and spread the fingers of his hands out gently, as Tristan followed along, his eyes never leaving Mulder's. God, they were beautiful, he thought before he returned his concentration to Mulder's voice and following his instructions. 

"Breathe deep again." Together they repeated the breathing ritual many times, as Mulder held Tristan's gaze in place. The heat of the day combined with the soothing sound of Mulder's breath and voice, brought Tristan's concentration all to one spot, Mulder's eyes. And surprisingly, his mental focus stopped wandering. 

"Now, I'm going to count from five down to one. As I do, your eyelids will grow heavy, and sleepy, By the time I reach the count of one, they'll close into sleep, deeper sleep than you've experienced. All right, Five." Mulder began to move his hand rhythmically, as though keeping a slow beat to music only he and Tristan could hear. "Eyelids heavy, droopy, drowsy and sleepy. Four." Mulder kept his hand movement and voice at the same slow lazy cadence. "Three. The next time you blink, you'll feel unwilling to open your eyes again. That's right. Two. They're closing, closing, closing, closing, closing them, close them, they're closed...One." 

Mulder reached out and placed his hand gently behind Tristan's head at the base of his skull. He grasped Tristan's left arm at his elbow. He pulled forward just slightly and Tristan moved with no resistance, as though floating. "Sleep now, sleep." 

Tristan became very still and Mulder looked at him carefully for signs that he was under. Under his hands, he felt Tristan's body temperature change because of his now lowered pulse rate and extreme relaxation. His eyelids fluttered from the early stages of REM. Mulder led him through a deepening induction exercise. 

"Turn loose now, relax. Let a good, pleasant feeling come across your body. Let every muscle and every nerve grow relaxed and at ease. Every breath brings more peace and more relaxation. In a moment I'm going to begin counting backwards from ten to one. The moment I say the number ten, in your mind's eyes you will see yourself a few feet away from a chair out in the sun. As I count down, you will simply move to go sit in the chair to rest. Ten...Nine, relaxing and letting go. Nine...Eight,...Seven...Six...You're almost there, you can rest when you reach the chair. Five...Moving, relaxing more completely. Four...Three...Breathe in deeply ... Two...You've reached it. Sink down into the chair, becoming more calm, more peaceful, more relaxed...One ...You're calm, in a peaceful state of relaxation. Just breathe. In slowly. Out slowly. Again. Again." 

Mulder removed his hands from Tristan slowly and was silent a moment, watching the man breathe, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest. "Tristan, I would like you to use your imagination. You're now standing in front of a door. You try to open the door and discover it's locked. There is a table standing next to the door with a key on it. You pick up the key, insert it in the lock. The door unlocks easily and effortlessly. You pass through the room into a large library. Do you see the library?" 

Tristan nodded. 

"This library has all the books of your life, Tristan, see how the years on the books go back? All the way back to the beginning of your life. All of the good things are in these books, all of the bad things too. These books have all the answers, Tristan. You own all these books and they have the answer you seek. Even if you haven't looked at the book for a while, the answer is there. We just have to find the right book." 

Tristan moved his head slightly, almost as though he was looking around a room. 

"I need you to help me find a book, Tristan. The book will try to hide, it will think it can outsmart you, but you know that you can outsmart it. And when we find this book, we can throw it out. We can get rid of it so it's not in your library any more. Are you ready to start looking for the book?" 

Tristan nodded again. 

"Find the book that has the pictures of the men you've been seeing. You know where it is. Remembering is now a priority for you. It is no longer a battle to remember: it is easy and natural for you to remember. Take your time and find this book. When you find the book, take it from the shelf and let me know you have it by raising the first finger of your right hand...Good." 

"Open the book, Tristan, tell me what you see." Tristan suddenly began to breathe a little deeper and his head turned as though looking away. "What are you seeing?" 

"A man, an older man. He's bleeding. Oh, God, there's so much blood." 

"Is he alive?" 

He nodded. "Yes, he's crying, he's pleading for his life." 

"Do you know him, Tristan, have you seen this man before?" 

"Yes. In the pictures, Sheriff Carmichael showed me. I've seen him before in my dreams. He's crying and asking someone to stop hurting him." Tristan ducked his head as though he were listening to something, his brow drawn in concentration. 

"Asking who, Tristan? Is there another person in the room?" 

"Yes. Yes! But I can't see him. It's dark. I can only hear him." 

"Is this other person saying anything? What is he saying? Can you hear his voice?" 

"He's laughing. No words." 

"Look around the room now. Do you see anything? What does the room look like? 

"It's dark, it's dark. I can't see. I can only hear the man asking for the pain to stop. God, he won't stop hurting him." 

A sweat had broken out on Tristan's forehead. He was rocking slightly. 

"What is it, what are you seeing?" 

"I don't want to look. Please." 

Mulder became concerned; he didn't want to push too far, especially not this first time. "Does the man know who's hurting him? Is he saying a name?" 

He shook his head. 

"Look around again, Tristan. Is there a picture on the wall, do you see any furniture? Anything that might tell us something about where this room is? 

"It's dark, I told you it's dark! I can only hear. He's laughing and hurting the man. Oh, God. It's quiet now." Suddenly, Tristan began to shake. "He's dead, he's dead. I'm alone with the other. No, please. I'm afraid. Please." 

Mulder reached out and grasped the other man's wrist, holding on. "Tristan, close the book now. Go ahead. Close the book. You won't see it anymore. We'll throw it away later. Close it. Have you closed it? Good. You're back in the library, Tristan. It's just a room, like any other. There's light and just books. Just put it back on the shelf and turn away. Have you done that Tristan? Good. That's good." 

"I want you to leave the library now and go back to your chair in the sun. Remember to lock the door behind you then go back out into the sunshine. When you've locked the door and are back in your chair let me know by raising the first finger on your right hand. Are you there? Good. Just sit in the chair and breathe deep as you feel the warmth of the sun on your face. Feel the cool breeze. You're safe now, Tristan. You're not alone. You're back here in the sun with me, warm and safe. Now listen to my voice. My voice. I'm going to count from one to five, and then I'll say your name. Your eyes will open, and you are then fully aware, calm, refreshed." 

Mulder counted him back into awareness. 

"Tristan?" 

His eyes opened. He looked around a moment and then suddenly he bent forward, burying his face in his hands, speaking softly. "Shit. Oh Shit." His shoulders shook and Mulder stretched a hand out towards him, but he flinched away. Tristan rose to his feet and walked away to the edge of the lake. 

Mulder let him go, staying where he was as watched the young man struggle with his emotions. But he was experiencing his own confusion about what was happening here. There was not one thing physically delicate or fragile about Tristan Hunt, and yet the overwhelming sensation that Mulder was experiencing was the desire to protect him. He felt a deep need to extend some comfort to him, to reach out to him somehow, to touch him physically. To keep him safe. 

Unsure of these emotions, Mulder kept his distance as much for his own sake as that of respecting Tristan's need for space. 

After a few minutes, Tristan turned back to him, his face more composed. "Did I say anything that helps?" 

Mulder rose to his feet. "Not yet. But I think it's there. A real therapist can do a better job of guiding you through it." 

Tristan looked troubled. He shook his head and looked up at the sky as though searching for answers as he took a deep breath. "Why do you think I'm seeing these things?" 

"I can't answer that definitively." 

"I'm not asking for the definitive answer! I just want to know what you fucking think." 

Mulder approached him now. "What I think is that you want to remember something. Something about this whole thing has triggered that. But I also think that memory scares the shit out of you." Mulder paused a moment. "But I also believe that you know that you'll need to remember it in order to get control of your life back." 

Tristan smiled softly. "Like I ever had any control in my life," he said with soft irony.

The two men looked at each other in the bright sunlight a long time; each made nervously uncomfortable by what transpired here. Finally, Mulder broke the silence between them.

"Tristan, will you let me call in someone I know to work with you?" 

Tristan nodded slowly. 

Mulder smiled. "Good." 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They spent the rest of the day visiting the other sites and Mulder examined closely for anything missed or something had been disturbed since. Serial killers sometimes liked to revisit a crime scene; it was another way of getting off. He didn't push Tristan for too many more questions, but the young man readily answered anything he was asked as best he could. At one point Mulder managed to step square in the middle of a cow pie in a field and that amused Tristan greatly as he cleaned his shoes on the dried grasses. 

"Little hint, Agent Mulder, in the outdoors never step on anything that you can step over. Don't they teach you that in FBI school?"

Mulder shot him a look, "I guess I was sick the day they taught Cow shit tactics at Quantico." Tristan laughed and Mulder felt pleased that he'd been able to make him do so.

Mulder found himself watching Tristan as he walked about, at ease with his surroundings; they talked easily, as Tristan was more open and far more relaxed than when he was in town. Mulder chalked this difference up to the fact that he was away from the intense scrutinization, rather than it having anything to do with his own presence.

Finally, as the sun went low in the sky, they returned to Wind River and the Sheriff's station. Tristan left for work and Mulder called Dr. Jeffrey Hawley, a psychologist and hypnotherapist who practiced in Denver. He knew Dr. Hawley from articles he'd written on the beneficial uses of hypnosis in Psychology Today and other medical journals, and he'd consulted with him occasionally during his days with the VCS. He knew this man to be of the highest integrity and training and he was certain that he could help Tristan navigate his journey into his own mind. Fortunately, Dr. Hawley was intrigued by the story Mulder presented. As Denver was only about an hour's flight from Casper and he agreed to come the next day. 

Mulder felt pleased as he hung up the phone, things were falling into place a little. With any luck, they could catch this bastard before he killed again. With any luck, Tristan would have his life back and be on his way to California. 

But that last thought brought an unexpected melancholy that he tried to shake off. 

He stayed at the police station getting the records for Dr. Hawley until Scully got back into town. She picked him up and the headed off to the dinner as she filled him in on her lovely day of slicing and dicing at the county coroner's office over in Casper. She'd reviewed the reports and talked with the coroner. Most of the dead had already been autopsied and claimed by the families but two were unclaimed. They had ID, but no family member or friends stepped forward to claim the bodies and take them home. They were simply warehoused in cold storage and Scully was able to examine them. 

But the local coroner had done an excellent job and there was little she could add to his findings. She ordered a few more sophisticated tests that the county couldn't afford. But she could get the Feds to foot the bill. She also examined the bodies again for any trace evidence, hair, fibers, prints. 

She'd planned to head back there tomorrow but upon hearing about his impromptu hypnotherapy session at the lake, she decided to say for Tristan Hunt's hypnotherapy session instead. Surprisingly, she didn't verbally chastise him for conducting the session, although he could see her quiet disapproval in her eyes. But she seemed to understand that in this case, the end justified the means. 

Both agents returned to the motel for the evening. But it was only just after 10pm and Mulder was restless. He stared at his laptop; unable to concentrate on the report he was supposed to be working on. The TV didn't interest him and neither did the pay-per-view for once. He'd neglected to bring a book on this trip and he wasn't in the least sleepy. He thought about going down to Scully's room and hanging out with her a bit, but he knew she was tired from doing several autopsies and the long driving trip she'd made today. She'd probably crashed already. 

He decided that a beer might be his best option. He shut his laptop down and got up. He pulled off the ratty T-shirt he was wearing and changed into a dark-blue cotton shirt. He looked in the mirror, meeting his own eyes as he buttoned the shirt. He rolled the sleeves up, deliberately not giving too much thought as to why he was changing into a nicer shirt to go get a drink at a redneck bar. He grabbed the room key off the dresser and walked out of the motel. 

It was a beautiful, warm summer night and Mulder decided to walk the two blocks to the tavern. There were so few lights in this little town and virtually none along the road he was walking down. He could see the stars so cleanly. You could never see them like this in the city with all the light pollution, he thought. 

He stopped walking, shoved his hands in his pockets, and looked up for a while. God, they were beautiful and they held such secrets. It was easy to feel so insignificant when you looked up to see the light of a star that had already died by the time its brightness reached you. It was a lonely feeling. Here and then gone. And no one to remember you. 

Shrugging off the lonely feeling, he continued his walk and soon the lights of the tavern came into view. As Mulder approached the badly lit parking lot, he could see that it was filled with trucks with out-of-state plates. Small town Friday night was in full swing. When he entered, he immediately sensed something. There seemed to be a heightened level of excitement that he couldn't quite put his finger on, a general buzzing that rose above the music. 

He looked behind the bar. Tristan wasn't there, just a harried-looking Robbie and another bartender trying to keep up with drink orders. Mulder stood near the entrance a moment, looking about, trying to figure out what the tension was when he saw June carrying a tray of empty beer bottles back from a table. He smiled at her, but when she looked at him, she didn't look happy, in fact she looked pretty pissed about something. 

"What's the going on?" he asked when she approached. 

"You just missed yourself a bar fight, Agent Mulder -- A couple of goddamn drunks decided to give Tristan a hard time." 

Mulder instantly felt chilled. "What happened?" 

"They jumped Tristan when he was taking the trash out to the bin behind the bar. One of them held him while the other one gut-punched him a couple times, then hit him in the face. God knows what they would have done if Robbie hadn't happened to go outside to empty the other trash can, cause nobody in here heard a damn thing over the music." 

"Is he all right? Is he hurt?" 

"I think he's OK. Scared mostly. I think Robbie got there before they could really do serious damage. Robbie pulled them off Tris and kicked the shit out of one of them before they ran like the pussy cowards they are." 

"Shit!" The anger flushed through Mulder.

"Shit is right. Red-necked bastards told Tris that they didn't need any murdering fags in their town. It really shook him up." 

"Did you call the Sheriff?" 

She gave him a disgusted look and shook her head. "Robbie wanted to, but Tristan wouldn't let him, he said he's had enough of the Sheriff." 

Mulder's heart sank and he exhaled deeply. "When did all this happen?"

"Not more than a half-hour ago. Robbie just sent Tristan home. You just missed him." 

"Where is his house from here?" 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mulder ran full speed back to the motel to get his car. He drove to Tristan's house, which was a small, simple place on the outskirts of the little town. He pulled up, crossed the yard, and stood on the porch a moment before raising his hand to knock. A long silence passed and Mulder could hear no movement inside the little house. He knocked again, harder this time. "Tristan, it's me. Mulder." He was just thinking that he may have reason to break in when just as he lifted his hand back from the door, it opened. 

Tristan stood in the doorway, staring at him warily. "Oh, it's you. I was expecting the white hood guys." 

Mulder looked at him in the dim porch light. A bruise was just beginning over his right cheekbone and he was holding his hand protectively over his abdomen. Jesus. "Can I talk to you?" Mulder asked. 

Tristan just looked irritated with him. "I'm really not up for company, I've had a bad night so far." 

"I know, I heard what happened. I would really like to talk to you." 

Tristan sighed. "Is there EVER any stopping you?" But he stepped aside and allowed Mulder to enter the room. "How did you hear about it?" he asked as he closed the door behind him. 

Mulder turned around in the living room and looked at him. "I stopped in at the bar and June told me what happened. Are you all right?" 

"I'm fine." Tristan answered, not looking at him, as he walked into the room.

A flash of irritation ran through Mulder. God, he hated that fucking answer; it was always a lie. 

"Scully is a doctor. Let me call her, she'll be glad to--" 

Tristan cut him off with am angry wave of his hand. "I don't need a goddamn doctor. What I need is to be left alone. Why can't everyone just leave me the hell be!" Tristan flopped down in one of the living room chairs, rubbing his forehead slightly. 

Mulder crossed the room and stood in front of him, not sure how to relieve the discouragement he felt radiating from the young man. "Tristan," he said quietly. "I'm sorry this happened to you." 

Tristan responded to the tone in Mulder's voice. He raised his eyes and looked up at the agent who had such compassion in his face. God, he just wanted to get lost in those eyes and seek comfort in this man's arms. How fucking nuts was that? Taking a long breath, he shook his head as he stared up at Mulder. "This is all my fault. I should have just kept my damn mouth shut. I should never have said anything." 

"No. Hiding the truth isn't the way out of this. You know that." 

Tristan, already on edge, lost his temper. "I don't know shit! All I do know is that I'm scared that I'm losing my mind. I'm afraid to sleep. I'm afraid someone is going to beat the shit out of me when I'm awake. I'm just sick of being scared all the time. I feel like such a freak. I don't fit in anywhere." 

"We'll catch who's responsible, Tristan." 

"How can you say that? You don't know that. You don't." 

"I'm willing to bet my life on it--" 

"No, you're willing to bet MY life on it!" Tristan stood up, his face in Mulder's. "I'm just a fucking lab rat to you." 

Mulder was stunned. God, did he really believe that? He'd wanted nothing more than to ease to pain he saw in those dark, sad eyes. He didn't care about anything more than that. And so far, he'd failed badly. 

"Tristan, that's just not true," he said, shaking his head. "I know I told you I would help...and I know I haven't...I'm sorry..." He raised his hand to Tristan's face, to reach out and touch him, to caress the injury on his cheekbone. But as he looked into the dark eyes of the man who was drawing him near to a dangerous emotional edge, he realized that he was about to get very, very lost. He halted his gesture abruptly, just before making actual contact. "I'm sorry..." he whispered. 

Tristan's eyes bore into his, seeing everything, and fully aware of what Mulder had almost done. The moment froze for just a split second before Mulder took a few steps backward, retreating and crossing his arms over his chest suddenly, as though chilled. He turned away as he sought to control the hot feeling that flowed through him, leaving him shaky. 

Behind him, Mulder heard Tristan approach, his footsteps soft on the carpet. With each step, Mulder's tension rose within. He knew what was happening here and he was afraid. Afraid of his reaction. Afraid because he wanted this. 

He felt Tristan's hand settle on his shoulder. It just rested there a moment, just the palm curved over the round of his shoulder. "I'm sorry too, Mulder, I shouldn't have said that," he said quietly. "I know you want to help me. I do know that. I believe you." He felt Tristan's other hand come up to rest on his other shoulder. Then the final gap between them closed as he felt Tristan's body press softly into his back. 

Mulder drew a ragged breath as his eyes closed. God, what was happening to him here? His body was surging at the touch. He felt Tristan's hands leave his shoulders and slide slowly down to slip around his waist. He should stop this right now. He really should, but there was something exhilarating about the large male hands that were now steadily exerting pressure against his belly, pulling him back gently against the hardness of the body behind him. 

Tristan was curled around him, his chin resting on Mulder's shoulder, his arms now wrapped around his waist, just holding on. "Why don't we let it all go for a while, Mulder," he said. "Both of us." 

Behind closed eyes, Mulder felt Tristan's hands moving again, sliding up under his loose shirt, and stroking across his abdomen slowly. Oh my God, the touch on his bare skin was electric, sending jolts to his gut and groin. He could feel the rhythm of Tristan's breath against his neck, feel the steady rise and fall of his chest pressing into his back. After a moment, his voice soft in his ear. 

"Let me make you feel better. Just for a while." 

And then Mulder felt it; the hot, soft, lingering kiss on his skin that was his final undoing. Right in the spot where his neck met his shoulder. Warm and wet, just the tip of Tristan's tongue caressed his skin with a tenderness that made Mulder draw in a sharp breath of longing. 

Oh Jesus God. Please. No. Yes. 

Mulder uncrossed his arms and placed his hands over Tristan's, stopping their movement. For just a moment, they both went deadly still as Mulder made his decision. Opening his eyes, Mulder released his grip on Tristan's hands and turned around, meeting his gaze. This time when he raised his hand, he completed the gesture and fingertips grazed Tristan's cheekbone and over his parted lips. 

"Let me make you feel better," Tristan asked again as he reached to kiss him, but Mulder turned his face just slightly. Not backing away, but not acquiescing completely just yet. But he didn't resist as Tristan began to press his mouth just below his jaw line instead, working his way back under Mulder's ear, caressing his skin with his lips. 

Tristan slid his arms around Mulder's body, pulling him close against him, just holding him and feeling his body within the circle of his arms. And Mulder could hardly comprehend the feelings the embrace evoked; it had been so long. 

If Mulder couldn't believe this was happening, Tristan wasn't far behind. This man that he'd wanted so badly that he could taste it was not only letting him touch him, he was responding. He felt Mulder's arms slip around him, as he rocked slightly on his feet, clinging to him. 

Later, Mulder would have no recollection of getting across the room to the bedroom. But suddenly he was standing next to the bed as Tristan began to unbutton his shirt, kissing each bit of skin he exposed. Unbutton, kiss. Unbutton, kiss. All the way down his chest and belly as Mulder watched. Jesus Christ, this was so fucking weird and yet he was already so hard that he wasn't thinking about anything except the touch of Tristan's hands and mouth on his skin, and how it was making him feel. 

Tristan finished with the shirt and pushed it off Mulder's shoulders. He snagged his fingers into the waistband of Mulder's jeans and pulled him against him so that he could feel his erection pressed into him. His hands slipped around to cup Mulder's ass and slid up the smoothness of the skin of his back. He kissed Mulder's neck as he unbuttoned his jeans with practiced hands. He then knelt to pull off his shoes and socks and then pushed the jeans down over his hips. As he did so, he looked up to see Mulder's eyes on him. Their shade had gone dark and wonderful with arousal. He put his hand on Tristan's shoulder to steady himself as he stepped out of the pants and then the underwear. Finally naked, Mulder allowed Tristan to press him back on to the bed where he sat back up against the large pillows propped against the slatted headboard. 

Tristan sat on the bed as he started to pull his own clothes off, feeling Mulder's eyes on him the whole time. What was he thinking? He felt like he should say something to him, but he was wordless, his mind just filled with sight of Mulder watching him. 

Tristan felt a little nervous. He'd wanted this so much and the fact that it was unfolding before him made him feel absurdly aware of everything that was happening. After a moment, Mulder reached out to help him slide the shirt from his shoulders. God, Mulder was helping him undress, how strange was that? All his clothes soon joined Mulder's in a heap on the floor. 

He looked up the length of Mulder's fine, slender body. He liked everything he saw from the goodly-sized hard cock to the strong curve of his jaw line down to the arch of his feet. He put his hands on Mulder's thighs and slid them upwards. God, he loved long legs, sleek and firm and Mulder had them in abundance. They felt so good under his hands. His palms moved over the smooth skin until he found a large, roundish scar. At the same time, his fingertips encountered a similar scar on the back of Mulder's thigh and he wondered what the story was behind it. His thoughts were interrupted by Mulder's voice. 

"I've...I've never done this." 

Tristan looked up to meet Mulder's solemn eyes. The older man seemed embarrassed by his confession and that was somehow endearing. 

"Never?" he questioned with a smile, deliberately misunderstanding. "Good Lord, Mulder, how old are you?" 

But Mulder was not to be teased and now he just looked disconcerted. "No. I meant I've never done this with--" 

"I know what you meant!" Tristan laughed a little. Still stroking his thighs, he leaned over, coming very close to Mulder's face. But he didn't try to kiss him again. Instead he lowered his face to Mulder's chest, nuzzling his face against the texture of his chest hair. "Mulder, if it's any comfort to you, you're my first virgin. So we're even." 

Mulder looked down at the man who was hovering over him, rubbing against him like a cat. God, the sensation was about to make him start purring himself. His humor returned, as it usually did, to help him cope with a strange situation. "I don't think that counts in the same way, Tristan." 

Tristan looked up at him because there was something about the way he said his name this time that was different. There was affection in the tone. The man liked him. Tristan felt a little silly that the thought of that pleased him so and he smiled back. "Well, either way, it's nothing to think about, Mulder. Actually, it's kind of nice not to think and just feel. Like this." He lowered his head and took one of Mulder's nipples into his mouth as his hand skittered down to cup his balls, rolling and massaging, avoiding his hard cock that lay against his belly. 

Oh yes, indeed, it was very nice not to think, just feel. Mulder closed his eyes as he squirmed just slightly as he felt the wet, sucking pressure on his nipple and the firm rhythmic pressure on his balls. His hips shifted as he tried to bring Tristan's touch in contact with his cock. But Tristan released his nipple and was now kissing and tonguing his way down his chest and over the defined sinew of his flat belly. Mulder felt his muscles quiver involuntarily and his eyes opened. Tristan's mouth was close to where he needed it. So close to his aching cock that needed touch, needed stimulation. Needed something, anything. Please. Oh God, please. It had been so long since any hands other than his own had touched him. Please. 

But instead, Tristan removed his hand from his balls, letting them drop down gently, heavy and swollen and Mulder couldn't stop the noise of disappointment. He watched as Tristan brought his hand back to his own lips, slowly sliding his middle finger into his mouth. Stroking it in and out slowly, lubricating it in imitation of the motion Mulder was desperate to feel on his cock. Tristan pressed lightly against the inside of his thighs and in response Mulder opened his legs a bit further. 

Tristan's hand slipped back between his legs, sliding under his balls this time. He felt the wet finger pressing against his anus and Mulder tensed. Tristan felt it and merely rubbed Mulder's ass in a tight circular motion, going no farther, just relaxing the area. Just touching. 

He bent and kissed Mulder's cock. No more than that, just a simple pressing of lips to the hardened flesh. He heard Mulder's sharp intake of breath as he pressed up, seeking more. Tristan smiled a little bit and looked up. "You'll like this," he promised. "You're really, really going to like this." 

Tristan leaned down to a bottom shelf on the nightstand and retrieved a tube of something. Mulder saw it and closed his eyes. But then he felt Tristan's lips on his cock again, now stroking with his tongue and he felt the pressure mount within as he pressed against him, needing more and harder contact. Tristan wetly lapped the soft skin stretched tightly over the hard shaft. Oh, God, that felt so good. Soothing and stimulating at the same time. Mulder began to breathe through slightly parted lips. 

Tristan's fingers were back at his anus again, now slippery and sliding smoothly over the opening, applying smooth circular motions that sent strange new feelings through Mulder's gut. They moved up to gently massage his perineum area, sending little waves of bliss before moving back to his ass. 

Then he felt Tristan give a final lick along the length of his cock and then his mouth engulfed the head just as his finger slipped up inside his ass. Mulder's head fell back with a sudden groan of pleasure as Tristan worked the sensitive head of his penis. "Oh, Fuck me!" he said as he squeezed his eyes tightly shut against the internal and external pressure as he was probed and sucked. 

Tristan's mouth left his cock for just a moment. "I'm working on it, Mulder," he said with some bemusement. Mulder felt Tristan's finger work inside even deeper, stroking now, sliding easily through the tightly clenched muscle that Mulder couldn't seem to relax although he knew he should. It didn't really hurt, but the feel of a warm, wet mouth on his cock was distracting him from what was going on up his ass. 

Mulder's body responded and he lifted his hips up to give him more access, even as his mind wondered what the hell he was doing lying here with a guy's fingers up his ass and his cock in his mouth. But then the finger probing deep now touched something inside that gained his immediate attention, a little shock of pleasure. God, more of that, please. 

Tristan gave his prostate a gentle rub, then another. He stroked in and out then another circular rub that brought a sharp hiss from between Mulder's clenched teeth as his head tossed against the pillow. He tried to push up against the mouth on his cock and yet down against the fingers stroking up into his ass. He had two fingers in him now, although Mulder didn't remember when that happened. Everything inside his body had turned to rising pleasure. After long moments of this bliss, he felt Tristan withdraw his mouth slowly from his cock and a brush of cold air replaced the warmth. 

"Mulder, open your eyes." 

It took a moment for Mulder to obey, but with effort, he met the gaze of the beautiful, dark-eyed young man poised over his cock. 

One look and Tristan knew Mulder was at the place where he would do anything to come, anything to seek absolution from the pleasure hell he was in. God, he'd seen nothing so erotic as this man on the edge. He'd imagined Mulder in this place and now he was exactly where Tristan wanted him to be. 

"Watch me as I make you come." Mulder nodded his acquiescence once and Tristan lowered his head back to Mulder's cock, drew him deep into his mouth, and began stroking him again. Tristan felt the muscles of Mulder's ass clench and relax in a steady rhythm driving his cock deeper into his mouth. 

He felt one of Mulder's hands grope forward, resting on the back of his head, tangling in his long hair. He looked up at Mulder who stared resolutely back at him, sucking in his lower lip as his breath got shallow at the coming pleasure. He was hanging on but not pushing, although from the tenseness in his fingers and the look in his eyes, he could tell Mulder was struggling not to. He would have told him that at this point he didn't really mind if he pushed, but his mouth happened to be full of cock at the moment. 

Mulder was now thrusting his hips upwards, now actively seeking the fulfillment that was still just out of touch. Tristan wanted desperately to stroke his own hard shaft; his own ache only increasing as he saw how turned on Mulder was getting. But he didn't want to take his hands from Mulder's body and he was afraid that in one touch, he'd be gone. But mostly, the only touch he wanted on his cock was Mulder's and he would have that soon. 

Mulder was desperate for the imminent release, for a brief scary moment he wondered why he couldn't come, why he was hovering, hovering, and couldn't quite get there. God, why couldn't he come? "Now, please...now," he ground out, only he was pleading with his own body, not Tristan. Suddenly, the sliding movement in and out of his ass stopped, but Tristan's fingers remained buried deeply up inside him, filling him, stretching him as just the tip of one finger smoothed against the gland. Tristan pressed him back down into the bed and he felt the contractions start as he now stroked hard against the his prostate and deep-throated his jerking cock down to the base. 

Oh Jesus God, that did it, this was it. Mulder braced one hand against the headboard and held on as his body decided to give up the torture and release him into orgasm. His lips parted as he groaned out sharply and shuddered. His head dropped back against the pillow again. His eyes closed despite his promise not to and he came hard as Tristan's mouth and fingers brought forth every drop of semen in his body. 

"Oh fuck. Fuck me. More. Jesus, God." Tristan sucked deeply with each pleasure contraction; Mulder's cock buried so deep in his throat that he didn't even taste the semen as it went down. The tight ring of muscles controlling Mulder's ass clenched rhythmically against his fingers as he stroked him again to prolong his pleasure. Mulder moaned with each pulse of gratification as he gripped the headboard rung with white knuckles. 

And then it was over. Mulder's body slowly lost the rigidity that had gripped him from head to toe as his muscles relaxed back into the mattress and pillows. He melted into that insensible after orgasm stage, and Tristan slowly removed his fingers from Mulder's ass and released his cock from his mouth, letting it lie gently back against Mulder's belly. 

Jesus, Tristan thought, all this from a blowjob, what was he going to be like when he actually fucked him.

He looked up to Mulder's face, to see his eyes close and his expression go slack as he recovered. Tristan was pleased because he knew that look; it was the result of a job well done. But, oh no, you're not going to sleep, Mulder. No, no, no. Not yet. You've got work to do. 

Tristan moved to kneel between Mulder's sprawled legs. Grasping his thighs he pushed them up and open even farther. He bent forward to lightly kiss and caress Mulder's softening cock and now emptied balls, as he carefully avoided any real pressure because of the hypersensitivity at this stage of the game. Just enough to keep Mulder from slipping away from him. His own cock was aching so badly for release that he was nearly in pain from it. He was just going to fucking die if he didn't come soon and he hadn't even touched himself. 

He finally felt Mulder stir and he opened his eyes to look at him. Mulder's lips parted as though he was going to say something, but no words emerged. There was a myriad of emotions floating in the hazel eyes. He most certainly had that lovely, freshly fucked glow but there also most definitely the fear of the unknown lurking there too. 

Mulder's gaze left his eyes and dropped apprehensively to his hardened cock, staring at it as though he'd never seen an erection before. Tristan smiled a little, as he knew it was entirely probable that Mulder hadn't had another man's hard penis staring him in the face, so to speak, at such an uncomfortably close range. That amused him greatly, but he decided not to make Mulder uncomfortable by mentioning it. Mulder looked back up him steadily, entirely willing, but still nervous. 

Tristan was so close to coming right this moment that he knew he wouldn't even last past the process of spreading lube on his cock, let alone getting it into Mulder. It would only take a few touches and he'd be gone. And when he fucked Mulder, he wanted to do it long and hard and deep. They had time for it all, he decided. 

He bent and lightly brushed his lips along the length of Mulder's soft penis. "Scoot up," he requested softly. A slight look of confusion crossed Mulder's eyes, but he scooted back up further against the big pillows until he was sitting upright. Tristan turned around and lay back against Mulder's chest, cradled between his long legs. 

Mulder felt the rounded softness of Tristan's ass pressing against his cock. Oh, that felt nice. He felt Tristan's weight settle in back against him, and he brought his legs closer in to hold the man against him. The feel of another body pressed along the length of his was just fucking amazing and Mulder's lethargy began to fade away. He lowered his head to the curve of Tristan's neck and sniffed, breathing deep the scent of the man lying back in his arms like he was a chaise lounge. 

Tristan's head settled back against his shoulder, then he reached out and took Mulder's right hand. "Touch me, Mulder. Do me like you would do yourself." He guided Mulder's hand to his chest. 

Mulder's hesitated, then wrapped his arms around the other man's body, stroking his hands over his chest and then slowly sliding his right hand down until he until he encountered Tristan's penis. Mulder opened his hand and grasped another man's cock in his hand for the first time. 

He held the hard shaft for just a moment and then drew his hand up slowly, from the base to the tip, then down again. Another slow stroke back up, where with his thumb he circled the smooth rounded head, sliding over the tiny slit and then around again as Tristan made a small soft exclamation. 

Hearing the sexual sound caused by his touch excited Mulder and he stroked again, falling into a natural rhythm and hand movement, harder and more quickly. He felt Tristan shift back against him, pressing into his own penis with his ass as he murmured, "Yes, like that." 

It was a strange and heady feeling, creating the motion, feeling the familiarity of a hard cock in his hand, but not feeling the results of that touch inside his own body. But it was his response to Tristan's reaction that surprised him. He'd expected this to be a simple return for services rendered, but he was feeling a deep pull at this giving of pleasure. He was apparently doing something right, as Tristan wiggled back against him, cursing softly under his breath. Mulder grasped him very hard, the hot friction increasing when suddenly Tristan made a deep sound that Mulder couldn't identify. "That OK?" he asked. 

A quick nod against his shoulder. "Oh yeah, God, please, Mulder. Do that some more."

Mulder recognized the phase Tristan was in immediately. He released his cock and brought his hand up to Tristan's mouth, who understood what he asked for. His tongue slipped out and licked Mulder's palm wetly and Mulder immediately applied the moisture down to Tristan's penis and began to work it again. 

Tristan's head fell back against his shoulder and Mulder felt the man's body completely relax into his. Mulder opened his legs even further to cradle him as he began a faster stroke, getting the feel for what he was doing. 

This was really weird. He had a penis in his hand that wasn't his own. It felt much the same as his own; hard, warm, smooth in some places, ridged in others. Tristan squirmed back against him, punctuating the movement with a quiet moan. 

Mulder was finding a renewed pleasure he hadn't expected. With each stroke he bumped Tristan's body back against his own cock which was pressed into the soft cheeks of Tristan's ass. And he suddenly began to feel the familiar pressure building within himself, a slight hardening. A light sheen had appeared on Tristan's chest and Mulder smoothed his left hand over the skin, circling and lightly pinching the nipples under his fingers. 

He felt Tristan arch back against him as his climax approached. "God, make me come, Mulder," he ground out in a whisper plea between clenched teeth. "Now. NOW!" 

Mulder delivered a just few more strokes when Tristan's orgasm hit him hard. He felt the creamy semen spurt forth in the rhythmic contractions, spilling both down over his hand and up on to Tristan's belly and chest, covering Mulder's other hand. 

Tristan's hands, which had been gripping Mulder's thighs like they were the arms of chair, dug into his flesh painfully as Mulder held him against him, still working his body. "Oh Jesus, Jesus." 

Tristan made almost the same soft noise that Mulder knew he made when seized by orgasm. As he bucked hard back against him with the strain of climax, Mulder suddenly found himself coming again too. A weaker orgasm than the previous one, but still sharp enough to make his head spin. He felt his sticky seed spread out between his body and Tristan's. His hands fell away from Tristan's cock as a soft cry escaped him. "Oh fuck!" 

For long moments, they lay sandwiched together, unable to move. Mulder's head fell forward as he took deep breaths, feeling Tristan's spent and sweaty body weight fully collapsed back against his. Mulder closed his eyes as he wound down from the high and sensible thought returned. He reached that stage where his brain started doing the thinking again instead of his cock. 

What the hell had he just done? 

Tristan slowly leaned forward, raising himself from Mulder's body. "God Mulder, that was--" He broke off when he felt Mulder move in the bed behind him, moving his legs from around him. Tristan looked over his shoulder and saw that he'd moved to the edge of the bed, swinging his legs over the side. He sat there a moment, looking at some distant point in the room. "Mulder?" he questioned. Mulder turned his eyes to meet his, but he couldn't for the life of him read what was going on in his mind. He was looking at him as though he was some strange thing he'd never seen before. 

As Mulder looked into Tristan's dark eyes, he noted the slight sheen of sweat on the fair skin of his face and the still lightly labored breathing through the barely parted lips. He glanced back down at his own body and saw his own semen splattered across his chest and slowly slipping down his belly now that he was sitting up. The all-consuming pleasure that had radiated from the heat center of his cock, balls had passed, and he felt drained as his penis relaxed and softened. 

Dear God, what the hell was he doing here? 

Suddenly Mulder stood and walked to the bathroom, feeling Tristan's eyes upon him, feeling as naked emotionally as he was physically. He shut the door behind him and unconsciously turned the lock, though he wasn't quite sure just what it was that he was locking out. He sat down on the closed toilet, resting his elbows on his knees and then put his hands up to his face. As he did so, he saw Tristan's semen still clinging to his skin. He lowered his hands and stared at the back of them for a long, long time, his mind blank. A small drop of come dripped slowly down, rolled to the edge of his hand, and plopped on the top of his foot. 

That sight jolted him into thinking again. Oh God, he'd just had sex with another man. With a witness or a suspect, depending on your outlook. Oh. Fuck. 

How was he ever going to explain this to Scully? 

How was he going to explain that he wasn't the least sorry? 

God, he couldn't just keep sitting here. Mulder stood up and moved to the sink. He turned on the hot water and let it run in the sink until the steam began to rise as he rinsed his hands. He found a hand towel on a rack and held it under the water, then squeezed the excess, not caring that it was now hot enough to burn his hands. He ran the rough towel all over his face and then held it there, the heat seeping into his skin, warm and soothing against his closed eyes as he breathed in the steam. 

As it began to cool, he slowly lowered the towel, looking at himself in the large mirror for the first time. The same man who was always in the mirror looked steadily back at him. Unblinking. Seemingly no different on the surface. 

Except the guy he was looking at just got through having sex with another man. He'd been touched, aroused, and brought to orgasm by a member of his own sex. And he'd liked it. He'd done the same for Tristan. And he'd liked that too. He'd been thoroughly seduced. 

Mulder's analytical mind went to work. Had he been seduced? The word implied a certain amount of unwillingness on the part of one of the parties. 

But he hadn't been unwilling. This man got to him. And now here he was hiding out in the bathroom like a virgin on Prom night. Not because of the sex, but because he was afraid of his response to it. 

Because he wanted more. 

Oh. Fuck. 

He finished cleaning himself off, picked up another towel, and repeated the procedure of wetting half of it. After a moment, he opened the door and stepped out. 

Tristan was still in the bed. But he was now lying on his side, his back to Mulder. At the sound of opening door, he glanced back over his shoulder at Mulder briefly before looking back out towards the bedroom window. 

Mulder wanted desperately to know what he was thinking and was just as desperately afraid to ask. Deeply aware of his nakedness, Mulder crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed behind Tristan. He looked down the long smooth line of his back, the defined shoulder blades and the gentle curve of his spine and the rounded curve of his butt. Everything about this man was young and beautiful. 

He touched his shoulder and Tristan looked back over at him again. Mulder gently wiped the skin of Tristan's back where a small spot of his own semen still clung. He then silently offered him the towel and the slightest smile tugged at Tristan's mouth as he took it. He watched in fascination as Tristan gently wiped the sticky semen from his own abdomen, then moved it down to stroke down his now softened penis. He dried the dampened skin with the other end of the towel and then dropped it on the floor by the bed. He rolled more fully on to his back as he looked up at him and after a moment, he asked the question Mulder didn't expect. 

"Are you angry with me?" 

Mulder leaned over Tristan and braced one arm against the mattress on either side of his body as he looked down at him. He shook his head slightly. "No, no. Not even close. It's just..." Mulder paused. He wasn't good at this sharing of feelings stuff. In fact, he sucked at it, especially when he didn't know what the hell it was that he was feeling. He finally settled on a simple response that was still honest. "New." 

Tristan considered that a moment then nodded as he sat up, the answer apparently having satisfied him. He rested his hand along Mulder's thigh, moving only his thumb, gently stroking, watching his hand. He seemed to be struggling with some emotion and somehow that made Mulder feel better. It was always better to be a little fucked-up with company. 

Tristan finally looked at him. "I wanted you so bad. I thought I was going to die if I didn't get to touch you." 

Mulder suddenly remembered a line from a very old episode of Star Trek. "I think it was Mr. Spock who said that sometimes having is not so pleasing a thing as wanting." 

Tristan leaned in close to Mulder as he smiled just slightly. "I watch reruns too," he said, his face just inches away. "And in this case Spock doesn't know shit." 

Mulder ducked his head as he felt a combination of embarrassment and pleasure at the compliment. He raised his eyes back up to the incredibly handsome dark-haired man still somehow amazed that somebody this young, this bright, and this beautiful had wanted him. Nobody had wanted him for so long that he was feeling positively adolescent about all this. Jesus, any moment he was going to break into a rousing chorus of "I feel pretty." 

"Yeah?" he asked quietly, aware that he was blatantly begging for reassurance, but not caring. 

"Yeah." 

"So thirty-seven-year-old virgins are kind of your thing?" 

Tristan tilted his head slightly. "Well actually, Mulder, technically, you're still a virgin here. We've rounded third base, but we haven't quite slid into home just yet." 

Mulder threw back his head and laughed with genuine amusement, and then he smiled. 

Tristan again saw that goofy-assed smile and he fell in love right there. It happened just like that, just that quickly. God, who would have ever guessed this would happen to him now? How could he ever give this up? 

Mulder saw the look in Tristan's eyes and it affected him deeply. He reached out and placed his hand against the side of Tristan's neck, his fingers gently curving around. His thumb stroked along the length of his jaw. Slowly he drew him forward as he brushed the other man's lips with his own, drew away and then parted his lips softly to take another kiss from him. 

And Mulder kissed him the way that Tristan had somehow known he was capable of. No hesitancy, no uncertainty, no doubt. He held Tristan's face in his hand as his tongue slid into his mouth. He nuzzled his lips against Tristan's, brushing, pressing, and delving. Mulder acted like a man starved for this kind of tender touch and even as Tristan responded, he wondered how long it had been since anyone had kissed this man. It was a terrible thing if it had been too long because Mulder obviously knew the value of a kiss. You could jerk off eighty different ways. Orgasms could be easily had all by yourself. 

But a kiss--a real kiss--needs another human being. There was simply no substitute for that intimacy. 

However long it had been, Mulder knew what he was doing. Or maybe he was just doing what he liked to have done, what he needed. Tristan parted his lips even farther and allowed Mulder total entry, letting him control and master this moment. And God, it felt so good, so close, the hot breath and soft noises. Mulder's arms went around him and he pressed him back into the pillows as he moved over his body. 

Tristan held on and returned the kiss for all he was worth because he needed this as much as Mulder did. It had been Tristan's experience that kissing was an art that was completely lost on most of the men he'd been with. In truth, until now, the best kisser Tristan had ever experienced had been the one girl he'd had sex with back when he was sixteen years old. But more often than not, the men he'd been with just seemed to view it as a bothersome preliminary before moving on to the good stuff. One of his lovers had even viewed it as feminine. He was happy to take Tristan's dick deep up his ass, but somehow excessive kissing was girly. 

Men were just fucking weird sometimes. So many of them had no clue that a kiss could be far more intimate than sex.

Mulder's hands came back to hold Tristan's face and he pressed the softness of his lips to his nose, his eyes, and along his jaw before moving back to take his mouth again. Tristan took Mulder's lower lip into his mouth, sucking and nibbling. God, it was the perfect size for that and Tristan then softly ran just the tip of his tongue along the ridge just behind Mulder's front teeth and felt the small jolt that shot through Mulder. 

Mulder jerked his mouth away for just a moment, "Ah, jeez, that tickles." 

He laughed, feeling ridiculously light-headed. "I know--that's why I did it." 

Mulder bent to kiss him again, his arms sliding under Tristan's body as he moved against him. The force of his kiss was no longer gentle as he pressed Tristan into the softness of the mattress. Mulder sprawled over the young man, their legs intertwined, their arms intertwined, their mutual growing erections pressed into the other's belly as they moved and rubbed against each other. Stroking with tongues and stroking their bodies against the other. 

Slowly, Mulder loosened his grip on Tristan only slightly as his lips began their journey downward. Tristan instantly missed the warmth and taste of him but at the same time the other things his hands and lips were doing soon made up for the loss. Mulder buried his face in the crevice where Tristan's' shoulder and neck met, licking at the salty sweat that had accumulated there. He placed both his hands against Tristan's chest, feeling the hardness of the nipple in the center of each palm. For the first time, Mulder felt strange. He was used to, and liked, the soft weight and gentle curve of a woman's breast fitting into his hand. Oddly enough, he found that he missed that slightly. 

But this wasn't half-bad. In fact, it was nice. He bent his head down to taste Tristan's nipple, licking it and feeling the hard nub against his tongue. He then settled in and began to suck in earnest, feeling the slight quiver that rolled through the other man's body as he did so. Yeah, this was damned nice. And since Tristan seemed to like what he was doing, Mulder settled into a mindless phase of giving the other man some pleasure. 

Scully's breasts were just the right size, he thought idly as he suckled. Not that he'd ever had any personal hands-on experience with them, per se. When he'd been wrapping her naked body up in his clothes in the Antarctic, it hardly seemed the right moment to feel her up. And of course, the clothes she wore usually did a wonderful job of hiding the fact that a feminine body lurked underneath. Once in a rare while, she'd wear something more form fitting and he'd be reminded that his partner had breasts. Very nice ones, actually. 

Mulder suddenly realized the complete weirdness of thinking about Scully's breasts while he had Tristan's nipple in his mouth and was enjoying it quite thoroughly, thank you very much. He smiled in self-amusement and laughed silently, knowing the man underneath his hands and lips probably wouldn't understand. Every once in a while, he even managed to amaze himself with how his mind could make these leaps in logic. 

Oh well, he'd always been good at multi-tasking. 

Mulder slowly moved his head over to kiss Tristan's other nipple, teasing with his tongue, flicking back and forth. He felt Tristan's hand on the back of his head, holding him against him. Mulder parted his lips and sucked the nipple deeply into his mouth, as his arms encircled Tristan's body again. God, there was something so deeply satisfying about doing this, he thought absently. It went beyond sexual to that more primal bonding of warmth and comfort and security. 

"Oh God, that feels good," he heard Tristan murmur, as he felt his fingers grasp onto his hair. "Oh yeah, just like that. Oh fuck, that's good. Jesus, you're good at this." 

OK, it was sexual too, Mulder thought, feeling absurdly happy that he'd made Tristan feel good. It had been a long, long time since he'd made anyone besides himself feel good sexually. It made him feel whole. It made him feel worthy. He seemed to be doing OK for once. 

"Really?" Mulder asked, lifting his lips a moment. "Good, cause I was worried." 

"Worried?" 

"Yeah, it's been about five years since I've done this." Mulder reached up and took his mouth warmly. 

Tristan was a little confused and he pulled gently from the kiss. "I thought you said you'd never been with a guy?" 

"I haven't been." He reached for another kiss. But Tristan put his hands on his chest and pushed him back just slightly, looking into his eyes. 

"Wait--you mean there hasn't been anybody in five years? Nobody at all?" 

For just a moment, Mulder wondered if he'd said too much. "Not unless you count my right hand," he finally answered. 

Tristan just stared at him, incredulous. "Jesus Christ, what a fucking waste," he finally said, a smile breaking over his face. 

Mulder grinned back at the compliment. "Thank you, I think." 

As he looked at Tristan, Mulder's heart was getting tugged. He'd known he could trust this man not to make fun of him or make him feel stupid and he'd been right. He laid his cheek against the hollow of Tristan's heart, listening, and feeling the heartbeat. Mulder's hand slid down Tristan's abdomen, tracing his fingertips lightly over the skin until he reached the other man's penis. He took it in his hand. It already felt more familiar; it didn't feel like his own cock anymore, it felt like Tristan's. He turned his head, looking at what he held in his hand. Then within two moments, his mouth closed over the head of the hard shaft. 

Tristan lay back and let Mulder have charge of his body, knowing he was the recipient of Mulder's first blowjob. He hadn't even had to ask him; he'd just gone ahead and done it as though he'd wanted to. God, Mulder had wanted to. That thought right there nearly made him come. 

Mulder's mouth, though inexpertly applied, was still pushing all the right buttons. He tried, but couldn't quite get his cock all the way down his throat. Tristan knew it took a while to learn to do that and right this moment, he didn't feel the need to instruct. And besides, he knew from personal experience that giving your first blow job was enough work without someone babbling instructions at you. His own first had been a nightmare with the guy he was with telling him everything that he was doing wrong. 

And besides, he didn't really need any help because it was feeling pretty fucking damn good as it was. Mulder's mouth now concentrated on the head of his shaft as his hand encircled the root and stoked upward and then down with the same rhythm as his mouth. Tristan watched Mulder put his best effort into making him feel good. And God, it felt good, just plain damn good. 

The bottom line was that there were few bad blowjobs. Mostly they were only good, great, stunning, or mind blowing. And this one was rapidly working its way up through the levels of stunning. Ah jeez, he was going to come, he was right there. Right there. 

"Mulder!" 

Mulder stopped what he was doing and looked up at him. He released Tristan's cock from his mouth and hand. He had a confused expression as though he thought he'd done something wrong. God, this guy was a fucking mess of insecurity. He smiled to alleviate the other man's anxiety as he tried to back his body back from the edge. "Mulder, it's time to slide into home plate." 

Mulder stared at him as though he didn't know what he meant. But he knew what he meant. 

All of sudden, Mulder felt awkward again. Not that he didn't know what to do. Fucking was fucking. But the prep work was a little different, and he wasn't sure on the rules on the whole top and bottom thing. Actually, he didn't know for sure if there even were any rules. Actually, he didn't even know what the fuck it was that he didn't know. 

He did know that he wanted the feel of his cock buried in a warm, tight sheath. That was familiar; that was what he knew. But he also wondered what it felt like to be that sheath. 

While he'd certainly been fucked over many times in his life, he'd certainly never literally been fucked. He'd never been...what was that hackneyed phrase? He'd never been taken. It was something he'd only ever considered vaguely and with a slight dismay at that. But the thought of being taken by Tristan aroused and excited him. It also scared him to death. 

Shit, this was all just too damn complicated and Mulder suddenly remembered just why he'd avoided all of this for years. 

"Mulder?" Tristan's voice interrupted his train of thought. "Mulder, where have you gone?" He looked over and Tristan had this slightly bemused look on his face. 

Mulder felt embarrassed that he'd spaced out. "I - I don't know what happens next... I mean, I know what to do, but I don't know who... I mean, I mean...fuck!" 

Mercifully, Tristan reached down and pulled him up to stop his babbling with a deep kiss. When he drew back, he smiled at him, laughing gently, but not unkindly. "I'm afraid I don't have a copy of the homosexual FAQ with me, Mulder. So just trust me on this, OK?" 

He rolled him over on his back, covering Mulder's body with his own. He slid his arms around the slender man, pinning Mulder's arms to his sides as their legs tangled together and their erections pressed together between their bellies. He held Mulder still as he kissed him deeply and rocked against him slowly; the fucking motion providing the delicious contact he needed. 

Even as Mulder accepted the kiss and the warm pleasure it brought, he felt immobilized by the strength around him and the weight on top of him. It was different and he wasn't sure that he liked that. Tristan was as tall as he was, but was a little heavier and probably stronger. Mulder was feeling a little overwhelmed physically. He felt almost claustrophobic though he'd never felt that way in his life before and certainly never during sex. The rocking motion of Tristan's hips against his and the thrusting of his cock against his belly sent mixed signals to Mulder's overstressed mind. 

Just as his brain started to send a signal to his body to begin a struggle, Tristan slowly released his grip on Mulder, looking into his eyes, allowing a bit more freedom of movement, backing off. "Mulder, it's not about top and bottom," he said quietly. "It's about feeling good."

Mulder nodded, understanding it was his choice. Tristan took his face in his hands and kissed him again. Then he smiled with that sweet humor that Mulder was coming to know and expect from him. "And Mulder, what would make me feel really good is to have your cock really deep up my ass." He kissed his neck as Mulder's arms slid around his body to hold him against him. "Please fuck me, Mulder," he whispered in his ear. "I really, really need you to fuck me." He drew back to meet Mulder's eyes.

Mulder stared up at him a moment. Please fuck me Mulder. Those were just words he'd never expected to hear from another man in his life. The thought of it coursed through his veins in a hot rush. And God, it turned out to be something he wanted to do so much that he ached with the need. 

"Good," he answered Tristan's kiss, sliding his hands into the shaggy dark hair of the other man and holding on. "Because I really, really need to fuck you." 

They both laughed and Tristan kissed him again. "Then here we go." 

Tristan rolled off from on top of Mulder and stretched out next to him on his stomach. He laid his head down on his crossed arms and looked over at Mulder, serious now. "Mulder, I'm clean. I want you to know that." 

Mulder ran his hand down the length of Tristan's back, caressing his gently rounded ass, kneading slightly, enjoying the firmness. He looked up into his brown eyes and nodded solemnly, acknowledging Tristan's statement. Mulder's fingers found the tightly puckered opening and lightly applied some pressure, just testing the resistance. 

Tristan drew a sharp intake of breath. "Oh, Mulder. Do that again." 

Mulder leaned in close to Tristan's ear. "Tell me what you want." 

Truth was all he wanted was to feel Mulder touch him in almost any manner whatsoever. He didn't need a whole hell of a lot of prep but he wanted to feel Mulder doing it. He wanted Mulder to experience doing it. "Get the lube." 

Mulder reached over and grabbed the tube, squeezing a generous amount on his fingers. 

"Now you need to get it inside me." 

Turning back to Tristan, he smoothed one hand down his spine as he pressed his finger into Tristan's ass, sinking deeply, stroking, and pushing the lube inside. He felt the sphincter muscles contract tightly around his finger. God, what was that going to feel like on his cock? 

Mulder began to press his lips all along the small of Tristan's back as he worked Tristan's ass. He remembered something that Tristan had done earlier. He curled his fingers down slightly as he stoked in and out, searching firmly for his prostrate, not knowing what the hell it felt like, but knowing he'd found it when Tristan suddenly uttered a cry deep in his throat. 

"Oh, damn, damn. That's good. Wait, not too hard, you'll make me come, I'm so close. I don't want it to be over yet." 

"Sorry," Mulder said, backing off slightly, then leaning in and nipping gently at the flesh of Tristan's ass. 

Tristan laughed, "No, stroking is good, stroking is our friend. Just with less enthusiasm. You can use two fingers." 

As he kissed and stroked the warm soft skin, Mulder added a second finger to the mix, fucking Tristan with his fingers, lightly bumping the prostate. 

"Oh that's good. Perfect. Now spread your fingers just a little." Mulder did as he was asked, opening the tightly clenched muscle, feeling the resistance as Tristan squirmed under him. "Yes. That's right. You can go with three in a bit if you want." 

Mulder felt his own cock harden even more, throbbing with want, as he watched his fingers sink in and out of the other man's body. 

"Jesus Mulder, are you sure you haven't done this before?" Tristan asked. 

Mulder laughed a little and withdrew his fingers very slowly to add some more lube. He leaned down to kiss the side of Tristan's face, as he managed to push three inside this time. The younger man turned to catch his lips with his own as Mulder's fingers slipped from his body. 

Tristan turned over onto his back. "I want to be able to look at you." He slid one of the pillows under his hips, raising himself up to the man who knelt between his legs, watching his every move with arousal filled eyes. Tristan knew at this point; Mulder was ready to fuck a block of Swiss cheese if necessary. But he needed to be told one last thing. "I really want to really feel you, Mulder. But it's up to you, I mean, it's OK if you don't want to. There are condoms in the drawer." 

Mulder just shook his head. Tristan brought his legs up and Mulder moved forward, taking his cock in his hand and guiding it to the tiny opening. He pressed forward with a relentless pressure. Suddenly the resistance gave way and he managed to push the head forward past the tight constriction.

With a grunt and closing his eyes with the effort, Mulder bore down, feeling the muscle ring slide the length of his cock as he moved forward until his balls came to rest against Tristan's ass. Mulder was in. 

Oh my God. 

For a moment, he couldn't move, the sensation was too extreme. Jesus, he'd never felt anything so tight, and for just a moment, he didn't see how in the hell he couldn't be hurting Tristan. He felt Tristan grip his arms. He opened his eyes and looked down at the man, completely open to him, taking his body inside his own. And he was sure it was hurting him. 

"God, Tristan--" 

"It's OK. It's good. Come on." 

Mulder pulled back slightly and pressed forward again, grinding his hips in before going still again as he felt his body's reactions begin to surge. He froze and squeezed his eyes tightly shut, concentrating. After a few seconds, he heard Tristan's voice. 

"It works better if you move, Mulder." 

"No," he whispered. 

"NO?" 

"Fuck, you're so tight, one move and I'll come. Wait. Shit. I can't fucking believe this." His voice was rough, almost angry. 

As Tristan looked up, he could see that Mulder was shaking with the effort of holding back his impending orgasm. He was actually worried about him. "Jesus, Mulder, come if you want to. It's OK, I'll survive." 

"NO!" 

After a moment, Mulder withdrew agonizingly slowly from Tristan's body, until just the head of his cock remained inside. He reached down and applied an old masturbation trick, pressing in on that spot on his cock that would back him away from the edge. Almost immediately, Mulder felt some control return, the orgasm pushed back just slightly. All those years of self-abuse were finally good for something. 

Gulping in a deep breath of air, he turned his attention back to Tristan and began to fuck him; slowly and gently, letting the pleasure build back up within. Tristan managed to hitch his legs up even higher, giving him deep access with his stokes. Mulder braced his weight evenly on his hands and put his back into the fucking motion, moving with an intensity of years of not getting to do this rhythm within another person. He was breathing hard though his mouth, as what little hot blood that wasn't in his hard shaft rushed up to his head. 

Mulder's chest and belly rubbed along the sensitive head of Tristan's cock as he moved over him. Tristan reached between their bodies and grasped his own penis, stroking along the length of his shaft, feeling the pleasure there. The stimulation of Mulder's thrusts against his prostate were intensifying and his long movements in and out of his ass and the feeling of being entirely filled within pushed him to the edge and suddenly over, taking him by surprise. 

Tristan came on a particularly hard inward stroke. He continued to come as the contractions pulsed through his body and his semen splattered upward. His head felt swimmy and the pulsing shots almost painful. He reached up seeking Mulder's kiss, which he received, as he fell down, down, down into the warm satisfaction. A few moments later he lay back, recovering, and breathing deep. 

Mulder, who had been so worried about coming too soon, continued his long, deep movements, taking his time and his pleasure from the body impaled by his own. He leveraged back now, taking Tristan's legs in his hands, relieving him of some of the pressure as he intensified his thrust. 

God, Tristan thought, Oh, God this was good. The initial burning he always felt at anal sex had long left and now there was just the motion and the sensation of being and feeling so close to another. Tristan felt each filling stoke, each withdraw and return. Even in his post-orgasm stage, his feelings all concentrated down to his stretched-out ass and the cock pushing into him, sliding back and forth through the tight ring of the rectum. 

And watching Mulder was almost the best part. 

Mulder grunted out something incomprehensible with his last few thrusts and began to come. His body jerked and he held himself deep inside, emptying up his balls inside Tristan. The pleasure shook him, he actually fucking felt it down in his toes. 

He collapsed down onto Tristan, still buried deep inside, breathing hard. Tristan crossed his legs gently over Mulder's back and rested them there. He liked the feel of Mulder encompassing him. He knew it would be over soon and didn't want it to end. He was in no hurry to have the other man leave his body. 

Everything had turned to carnal sensation for Mulder as he experienced the smell, the sweat, and the feel of being inside another person again. He felt the hands on his back, smoothing and stroking as the lethargy overtook him. He felt heavy as though gravity had doubled. He had no strength in his arms to raise his body. He could hardly raise his head from where it was buried in the crook of Tristan's neck. He didn't want to. He could just die right here. That would be fine. 

But he was mindful of Tristan's comfort and he roused himself. He leveraged back and withdrew smoothly and gently from the man below him. Tristan lowered his legs and Mulder eased down on to his side next to him. They lay side by side for a long time, each coming back down from their intense exertion. Mulder's eyes were closed when he heard Tristan's voice. 

"Will you stay the night?" 

Mulder wasn't sure he ever wanted to leave. But he didn't say that to Tristan. Instead he turned towards him, reached out, and tugged the other man back into his arms. Mulder had so many things he wanted to say, he wanted to tell Tristan how he felt right at this moment, but he'd gone completely inarticulate. Tristan rolled against him and settled into his arms. After a moment, he heard his quiet voice against his chest. 

"Oh, Mulder, you make me feel good. Thank you." 

Soft emotion flooded Mulder at the words, something like tears, but not quite. God, feeling alive and whole and wanted. He could get used this. Of course, he was going to stay. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the night, Mulder's sleep was broken apart by a sound he didn't place immediately. As he became more fully aware, he realized that the sound was coming from the man lying next to him. He rolled over, looking towards Tristan in the moonlight. He was sleeping on his stomach and Mulder again heard the low keening noise. It was like someone trying to scream but unable to get the sound fully out. Caught in that terrible dream where you are trying to cry out, but you can't. It was the sound of fear. He saw the muscles in Tristan's back twitch involuntarily as he struggled against something in his dream. He touched Tristan's shoulder gently then shook him a little harder when he didn't respond. 

"Tristan, wake up. Hey, come on." 

After a moment the noise stopped and Tristan raised his head sharply from the pillow. He took a gasping deep breath, and his expression was disoriented when he looked over at him. Mulder could see that for just an instant, Tristan didn't know who he was. But then he blinked, and recognition came into his eyes as they focused on him. 

"Were you dreaming?" Mulder asked. 

Tristan nodded once and swallowed. His eyes darted around the room as though looking for something. A light sweat covered his forehead and although it was hot, Mulder knew that it wasn't from the weather. 

"Hold on, let me get you something to drink." Mulder got up and entered the bathroom. When he returned with a glass of water, Tristan was now sitting up and rubbing his eyes. He took the water Mulder brought him and drained the glass empty. 

Mulder sat on the bed facing him, reached out, and touched Tristan's arm. "You OK?" 

Tristan nodded and rubbed his eyes some more. "God, I don't even remember falling asleep." He smiled wanly. "It's been so long since I've done it." 

"Did you see anything?" 

"I never got a clear view of anything in my head. It was just..." He stopped and squinted a moment as though trying to see something still in his mind. “It’s like I was driving down a dark road. But something was wrong. It was like there was something following me or after me. I felt menaced.'' 

"The road where were we today?" 

"I don't know. It could be any road. I was trying to see what it was. I think I woke up before I could really comprehend what was happening." 

Mulder stood up and took the glass from Tristan, taking back it to the bathroom. As he came back, he glanced out the window to the moon above. He lowered his gaze to the back yard surrounded by the trees of the hills behind the house. 

There was evil out there somewhere. It had come into this house, into Tristan's mind somehow. He stood by the window looking out at the darkness where the evil was. Shit. Maybe he shouldn't have woken Tristan up. But he couldn't let him lie there and suffer in fear from night terrors. God, he didn't know what to do. How was he going to stop this thing? 

Breaking through his reverie, Tristan's soft voice issued a request that drew his attention and demanded that he obey. 

"Mulder, come back to bed." 

And so he did.   
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Waking up with another body curled into yours was a most undeniably nice experience, Mulder decided. This was something else that he could get used to. 

He'd been awake for some time now, just looking at the Tristan, who seemed peaceful finally. When Mulder had returned to bed last night, Tristan had nestled up against the side of his body and had settled in for the duration. After his nightmare, the tension radiated from his body and it had taken him a long time to relax again. All Mulder could do was watch over him until Tristan's eyes finally closed and he slipped into a light dreamless sleep. He was at rest finally.

And Mulder hated to wake him now, but he'd looked at his watch and he had to get going. But he didn't want to slip out and just leave him with a note. That just didn't seem right and he didn't want Tristan to think he was sneaking out. It was true that this thing had layered many new complications onto his already complicated life and there were possible consequences. But it's not like there wasn't precedent for tossing aside convention in his life. But he had no regrets. 

Mulder reached out and shook his shoulder gently. "Hey...I have to get going." After a moment Tristan lifted his head and peered up at him through his sleep-tousled hair causing Mulder to smile at the sight. 

"You look like a mop," he said as he pushed the hair off Tristan's face so he could see him. He has such beautiful eyes, Mulder thought yet again, warm and full of light. And this morning, some of the gloom seemed to be gone. But the bruise on Tristan's cheek had darkened in the night and Mulder sadly ran his fingers gently over it. 

Suddenly, Tristan was all over him, kissing him deeply and he felt the roughness of his unshaven cheek against his. Mulder melted into the kiss, and the feel of Tristan's hands on his body. None of this was helping to diminish his morning hard on and he was surprised at the strength of his craving. He pulled back just a bit; he really needed to stop this. 

"Tristan, I have to go." 

Tristan nodded his head. "This will just take a moment." 

Mulder's completely token protest went unanswered as Tristan then proceeded to kiss his way down his chest. He pushed the sheet down as he worked, uncovering Mulder's body slowly as he moved his way towards his belly, dipping his tongue deep into his navel and feeling the muscles twitch under his hands. 

With little preliminary, he grasped Mulder's cock and took it in his mouth. He worked his way softly around the head and then slid down and back up, quick and hard. Mulder couldn't believe how aroused he became so fast. God, this was wonderful and he forgot that he needed to go because all he needed now was to come. 

Seconds slipped into minutes as he felt Tristan's tongue slide over the slit and then down to tease along the ridge of his cock head before deep-throating him all way down as his movements became quicker and harder. The intense stimulation brought Mulder to the quickest orgasm of his life as he cried out at its sudden arrival. As the gentle pleasure waves wafted through his body, Mulder suddenly felt boneless as he gasped for air. 

Tristan looked up at him. "OK, you can go now," he said with a wicked smile. 

"Go?...I can't even move...Bastard," Mulder groused. 

Tristan laughed and crawled back up Mulder's body to kiss him again. As he did so, Mulder felt Tristan's erection bump into his hip and he slipped his hand down under the sheet to grasp on to it. 

Tristan made a low sound in his throat as he drew away from the kiss. "Mulder, it's OK, I know you have to go." 

"Oh, trust me, I have time for this." Mulder's head disappeared under the sheet. 

He felt Mulder's mouth on his penis, kissing it softly and then licking down the hard length. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the sensations; the cool sheet over his body and the warm, wet mouth tonguing his balls. Mulder drew them into his mouth and caressed them with his tongue before releasing him and moving back up to take his cock back in his mouth. The fact that he couldn't see Mulder under the sheet was kind of exciting and heightened the feeling in his body. 

"Oh, Mulder, you're definitely getting good at this." 

"Thank you," the sound of Mulder's voice from under the sheet reached him before the intense sucking sensation resumed. Mulder's tongue swirled around the head, tracing the ridge and then swallowing him down, deeper than ever before, fucking Tristan with his mouth. 

Oh God, he needed to tell him, Tristan thought. He really needed to tell him before it happened just in case he cared. "Mulder...Mulder I'm going to come." The only response from the man who had his cock in his mouth was to increase the motion. With a deep groan, Tristan came into Mulder's mouth. 

Mulder tasted another man's come for the first time, swallowing it down as Tristan's body jerked beneath his hands. It tasted slightly different than his own, a little funky. Not something he'd want as salad dressing, but not something he felt the need to spit out either. He'd heard women say that different men tasted differently and now he knew that it was true. He slowly withdrew his mouth from the softening penis. He rested his head against Tristan's hip a moment, as he felt a hand stroke through his hair affectionately. 

Tristan lifted the sheet to peek down at him. "You can't stay under there forever, Mulder, as much as I'd like you to." 

Mulder smiled as he looked up, amazed at how good it had felt to return the pleasure back to Tristan. Pushing the sheet back, he moved up to kiss him when suddenly, his cell phone began to ring, bringing with it a sharp, hard, unwanted reality. 

There was only one person who'd be calling him. After a moment, Mulder leaned over Tristan and dug his phone out of the heap of clothes on the floor. 

"Mulder." 

"Hey, it's me. Are you awake?" 

Tristan felt Mulder's body tense up as it lay over his. "Yeah, I'm up." 

"Want to grab some breakfast before we head over to the Sheriff's office?" 

Mulder glanced at his watch again. "Ah...yeah, sure. How about I meet you at the diner in about a half-hour? I need to take a shower and make a phone call to Dr. Hawley." 

"Sure. I need to send a couple of emails. I'll see you there." Scully disconnected. 

Mulder tossed the phone on the bed. He sat up, swung his legs over the side of bed, and hurriedly reached down to find his underwear. He didn't say anything to Tristan or look at him. He snagged a hold of his jeans and began to pull them on. 

"You OK?" 

Mulder nodded, but still didn't look at him as he stood to pull his jeans on the rest of the way on and started to button the fly. He bent down to retrieve his shirt and slipped his arms into it. He slid his hands down the front of his shirt, and began to button it from the bottom, slowly covering up bits of his chest. Tristan watched this reverse strip tease with fascination. Like the other day, Mulder's movements were totally unconscious and completely sexy. The man truly didn't have a clue. 

But while watching Mulder dress was an incredibly appealing sight, his mood change raised a question in Tristan's mind. 

"Have you slept with your partner?" 

Mulder stopped what he was doing and now looked at him directly a moment. "No," he said finally as he flipped back the tucked-in collar on his shirt. "No. What I told you last night was the truth." 

"Then why are you acting like you just got caught cheating on someone?" 

Mulder sat on the edge of the bed and began to pull his socks on and then his boots. He was clearly thinking about the question, trying to make something work out in his mind. 

"Because somehow, I feel like I have," he answered. He shook his head as he examined the feeling. "There's no good reason for it and I shouldn't be feeling that way. But I do." Mulder finished tying his shoes. 

"Are you in love with her?" 

Mulder stood and looked down as he rolled up his sleeves, seeming to be concentrating on that. Unexpectedly, an ironic sounding snicker escaped from him as he looked back up at Tristan. He was actually gently laughing with that same self-mocking tone that Tristan had heard in the Sheriff's station yesterday. 

"Of course I'm in love with her. But I keep thinking I'll get over it." 

Tristan shook his head, admiring his honesty. "Mulder," he said with a smile and no rancor, "You just might be even more screwed up than me." 

Mulder leaned over the bed and took Tristan's face in his hands, kissing his mouth hard. "Easily," he answered with a grin. He then touched his lips so gently to the bruise on his cheekbone and drew away slowly, looking him in the eyes. That kiss, even more than the other, made Tristan's stomach tremble. 

"I'll call you when Dr. Hawley gets in." 

Mulder picked up his cell phone and was out the door, leaving Tristan to watch him go. After a moment, he got up and headed to the bathroom. 

Mulder made it back to the motel in record time. He parked in the back lot, ran in, and took a shower even as he regretted washing the smell of Tristan from his body. As he dressed, he called Dr. Hawley. He would be here about noon. He made it across the street to the diner and wasn't even terribly late. Scully was already there sitting in a booth by the window and reading the local paper over a cup of coffee. 

He slid into the booth across from her. "I'm sorry I'm late. Have you been here long?" 

She shook her head as she folded the paper closed and smiled at him. "No, I just got here. I was just reading about farmer Brown's two-headed calf birth." 

"Gee Scully, maybe we can find full time X-file work here." 

She laughed a little and he looked at the sun gleaming off her rich red hair. He stared at his partner as she looked over the menu and tried to pull his thoughts into order but they rambled unfettered through his overstressed head in an unorganized stream of consciousness.

Hey Scully I know we've only been here three days but you see I've met this guy and while I don't know if it's love it's certainly something and we've been fucking our brains out and he makes me feel whole and wanted and maybe I do love him, I don't know what the fuck is going on at all, what I do know is that I think about him constantly and I'm scared that I won't be able to help him and God, Scully, you look pretty this morning, why do you have to look so pretty this morning, it's going to make it so hard to tell you what I need to tell you and I know I have to tell you about this because you know everything there is to know about me so I need to tell you this too. I think I love him, Scully. Oh fuck, I think I love him... 

"Mulder?" 

He snapped out of his internal monologue and his attention was drawn back to his partner. "What?" 

"What time is Dr. Hawley coming in?" 

"He should be here by noon. He's going to meet us at the Sheriff's station. I'll call Tristan Hunt--" 

"You'll call Tristan Hunt what?" 

Mulder's head snapped up at the voice he heard. Tristan was standing next to the table, grinning at his own small joke. Oh Jesus. He had showered and was standing there all clean and bright and beautiful. His dark hair just brushed his shoulder and gleamed in the morning sun. He was wearing a T-shirt that showed off his lean, young body and jeans that were worn in all the right places and his bare feet were shoved into beaten up moccasins. He looked splendid and Mulder felt light-headed at the surge of feeling just looking at him brought about. 

And there wasn't a doubt in Mulder's mind that Tristan was here checking out his competition. Fuck. He didn't know whether to be pleased or dismayed. 

Scully looked up at him too. But if she was a little nonplused a man that she wasn't entirely sure wasn't a murderer was standing there, she hid it well. "Mr. Hunt, we're just having breakfast, would you like to join us?" 

"Yeah, thanks. I usually eat alone." He slid into the booth next to Scully, smiling at her. "I don't cook, so I pretty much live here." 

Tristan and Scully made small talk about the fact that the food was actually good here until the waitress came to take their order. Mulder noticed her coldness when she spoke to Tristan and she was clearly curious about who he and Scully were. After the waitress brought their meals, Scully noticed the bruise on Tristan's face. "Do you mind me asking what happened?" 

"There was a little fight at the bar last night. Some people got out of line. It happens." 

"You all right?" 

Tristan nodded and he moved his eyes from hers to Mulder's. "Oh, yeah," he said slowly, looking at him. "I'm all better now." 

Mulder felt a slight blush come over his cheeks as he looked over at his partner and his lover sitting side by side. He looked down and dug into his scrambled eggs. 

It was then that he felt it. It was a foot and it was very deliberately sliding slowly up along the length of his leg and back down. Aside from the fact that her little legs were probably too short to reach across under the table, he certainly knew it wasn't Scully. 

He moved his leg away slightly and looked up. Both Scully and Tristan seemed to be concentrating on their meals. A moment later the foot was back, running up the inside of leg that time. Tristan, who continued eating and nodding at whatever Scully was babbling about, now looked over at him from under his lashes. Mulder gave him his best, "knock it off" look in return, and the foot slid slowly away. 

But two minutes later, it was back. This time it was between his legs, the bare toes just barely flexing over his crotch. Mulder sat up straighter in the booth, seeking escape. Fucking little bastard, he could feel himself getting a little hard. Shit. This was just too damn surreal. He was getting felt up in public in front of his partner. 

He noticed that for a trained investigator, Scully didn't appear to notice any of these goings-on. Thank God. He drew in a quiet sharp breath and that apparently satisfied Tristan. He stopped the sensuous toe massage and mercifully left Mulder alone. The rest of the meal went well. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Unfortunately, the session that afternoon with Dr. Hawley didn't go nearly as well. Tristan was cooperative and Dr. Hawley was skilled, but in the end, he brought forth no more information than he had before. 

Mulder had watched the proceedings, feeling Tristan's sense of failure. Though he said nothing to Mulder directly, occasionally their eyes would meet and he could see his struggle as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing. He watched Tristan try so hard to find the truth and yet fail. He knew that disappointment all too well.

Tristan could clearly see where bodies ended up. He could see the pain inflicted, but he couldn't see the where and the who. Dr. Hawley tried several different techniques to no avail. By that afternoon, everyone agreed that they'd gone as far as they could for that day and both Tristan and the doctor left.

Mulder had not had the opportunity for any private conversation with Tristan before he left and that left him both frustrated and agitated. 

Not surprisingly, he and Scully were at odds over the direction to take the investigation. They were halfway through their standard argument on the validity of his hypothesis when Deputy Simmons tracked them down to tell them that another body had been found off the highway. 

Mulder and Scully arrived on the cordoned off scene in the late afternoon. Sheriff Carmichael was already there as were some other deputies, medics, and the coroner's van. On first glance, it seemed to be much the same as the others; a bloody and bruised body, a shot gun blast to the face probably delivered post mortem. Just from a quick examination, Scully could tell that the actual death had occurred not too long ago, perhaps within the last 24 hours. Photographs and measurements were taken, the area carefully scrutinized for any evidence and anything that looked even a little out of place was bagged and tagged. There were some footprints around the body that they made casts of. A wallet was found on the body, full of money and ID. Another person dead for no apparent reason. 

It was nine p.m. before the dead man was loaded and taken back to the coroner's office. Scully was going to follow on to Casper and perform the autopsy tonight. Deputy Simmons took her back to the station so she could gather her files. Mulder, who'd been questioning the two kids who had found the body while out running their dog, arrived shortly thereafter. He found Scully alone in the briefing room. She was just hanging up the phone. 

"Are you off to Casper?" 

"Yes, the Sheriff is letting me borrow the station car. I want to get at it tonight since this guy seems to be escalating his attacks and it doesn't look like your witness is going to be of any use to us." 

Mulder recognized the tone in her voice immediately. She was frustrated and had decided he'd been wasting their time. "I think it's a little early to call it quits, Scully." 

She turned to him. "Well, he sure as hell didn't seem to have his magic powers at work on this one." 

Of course, this wasn't true. Tristan had started to form a dream vision last night. But he'd unthinkingly woken him up and had disturbed the natural process. But he couldn't tell Scully this just yet. So instead, he hedged his answer. "We haven't given it enough time, Scully. You've been through hypnosis. You know that all of the memories aren't recovered in just a few sessions." 

"Oh, Mulder--why won't you admit this isn't working?" She looked up at him a moment and he could see she was pondering something. "I suspect that Tristan Hunt's visions may be an elaborate scheme of a delusional mind. You know how well people can cover their tracks. He may not actually be doing the murders, but he may very well be an accomplice. He may be helping facilitate the entire process and telling us about it feeds into his feelings of power." 

"You have no evidence to support that." 

"Actually, I do Mulder. I just got off the phone with the tavern where he works. You remember that bruise on his face this morning? I thought that seemed a little strange. Well, it turns out that he didn't break up a fight last night--he was the focus of it. And after it happened, Tristan Hunt left work early." 

"So?" 

"So, we don't know where he was when this murder occurred last night." 

Suddenly Mulder knew where Scully was going with this. Shit. Oh shit. 

Scully was rattling on as she flipped open a folder and began to look at some notes she'd written. "Yeah, apparently what actually happened is that he was jumped on by a couple of the locals in what the manager said was a gay-bashing. He lied to us this morning." 

"I think he just didn't want to tell you that he was a victim. I don't really think that's a lie." 

Scully frowned at him. "But that's even more reason to check into this, Mulder. If Tristan Hunt has been hiding what he is for all these years, he's been living two lives. His anger at that may be causing him to strike back--" 

"Jesus Christ, Scully, what are you saying? Gay people who aren't out are serial killers? What the fuck kind of investigation is that?" 

Scully looked surprised at his outburst. "Of course not, Mulder, but people who feel persecuted or alienated, especially over a long period of time, often act out on that feeling of anger. You know that as well as I do. This could be our first real break." 

"He didn't do it, Scully, he couldn't have." 

"Mulder, you don't know that!" Scully responded impatiently. 

"Yeah, Scully, I do. I do know that." 

She looked irritated, as she usually did when she thought he was being obstinate. "He left by himself. No one knows where he went from there until you and I saw him in the diner this morning." 

"He was at home." Drop it, Scully, he prayed. Please. Just drop it. 

"How do you know that?" 

Shit. 

There was a long silence as she waited. "Mulder, how do you know that?" she finally asked again. 

The words came out slowly. "I went to the bar to talk to him after I left you last night. Just before I got here, apparently, two thugs had ambushed him. They started to beat the crap out of him before the manager pulled them off. He sent him home, and I stopped by to see if he was OK. And he was there." 

"Just because he was there when you stopped in doesn't mean he couldn't have gone out later." 

"He didn't leave. He went nowhere all night." Scully please, he appealed silently even as he knew the futility of it. Just once in your life, let something go. Just take my word on something once. Please. This wasn't the time, the place, or the way he had eventually intended tell her about this. 

"How can you know that? Were you surveilling him all night?" 

The temptation to lie was great, and she'd just inadvertently handed him the almost perfect cover. But lies, once started, only begot more lies. And he didn't even really know how to lie to Scully; he couldn't even get the lie to form in his mind. 

"No. I wasn't surveilling him." 

"Well then how can you know he didn't leave?" 

"Because I was with him, Scully," he answered. "From the time he left work last night until this morning." 

She looked confused. "What the hell were you doing at Tristan Hunt's house all last night?" 

But even as she asked the question, she knew that something was wrong here. Mulder just stared at her; his usually expressive face had turned to stone. But his eyes spoke volumes, they managed to look both evasive and resigned and some little notion nipped at her heels again. The same one she'd dismissed two days ago when she'd watched Mulder and Tristan interact for the first time. The same one that had come back into her mind when she'd seen them at breakfast and then later at the hypnosis session. She'd dismissed it because it was not at all unusual for Mulder to bond with the people involved in a case. But there'd been something different about it this time; there'd been an intimacy in the air that had tweaked her. It was a feeling that she could only chalk up to feminine intuition and so, of course, she'd dismissed it. But it now reappeared and began to hang on. To solidify. Shit. Oh, Shit. 

She said her next words carefully. "Mulder...what are trying to tell me?" 

He couldn't look away from her. Fuck. Here we go; down the rabbit hole. He took a long breath and responded quietly.

"I slept with Tristan Hunt last night." 

Now the look on Scully's face was frozen, then she blinked once as her eyes narrowed. He could see that she was intently trying to process that information. Trying to make it somehow sound different; to make his words have some meaning other than what she heard. In the ensuing silence, he watched as comprehension slowly spread across her expression. Her next words were spoken with deliberate preciseness. 

"You mean, you had sex with him?" But it wasn't really a question.

Mulder just nodded once, never breaking her gaze. He watched as Scully's eyes first widened at his confirmation, then went dark. 

"You had sexual relations with a suspect?" Her voice was low and tight, trying to make it clinical somehow, trying to hang on to her investigator mode, but Mulder could see she was about to lose that battle completely. 

"He's not a suspect, Scully. He had nothing to do with the murders. He's a witness at best." 

That apparently broke the emotion dam she'd been holding back. Scully slammed the folder she was holding down on the table. "Oh fine, so it's OK to fuck a witness?" 

Now that she recovered from her shock, fury set in. Anger that was firing off on so many different professional and personal levels that she almost didn't even know where to start. A heat wave rolled over her as though she'd walked in front of a blast furnace. The intense emotions she was feeling were as shocking as Mulder's words had been a moment ago. "What the hell were you thinking Mulder? Have you lost your mind?" 

"Scully--" 

But Scully wasn't going to be interrupted. "Goddamn it, Mulder! How could you do this?" 

"Let me explain..." 

"You got involved with a material witness to this case. Male or female--how could you have done such a thing? We've only been here three days for God's sake." 

Aware that her voice had risen sharply, she suddenly turned away from him. She couldn't look at him anymore. She was just astounded. How long has this been going on? All this time she'd thought he'd been living the same sexless, solitary life she'd been. 

Had he been out on case after case, picking up men? Bastard. Fucking bastard. How could he? How could he seek out something that she denied herself? She'd given up so much for this job, she just assumed he'd done the same. How could she have been so wrong? And how stupid was she? Just how fucking stupid was she? 

Scully suddenly realized that her anger was as focused on herself as Mulder. 

"Scully, will you please listen to me? Please." 

She felt a gentle hand on her shoulder. She'd been so consumed that she hadn't heard him approach. She flinched away sharply from his touch, batting his hand away as she turned back to look at him. 

He looked hurt. 

Good. 

"I know you're angry, but please hear me out," he entreated again as he backed off a foot or two, giving her space. 

"Have you been doing this all along? On our other cases too?" 

"Scully, no..." he responded quietly with a shake of his head, looking miserable. 

Good. 

"I thought I knew you, Mulder. Jesus Christ, I don't know you at all." 

"Yeah, you do, Scully. You know me. That's why you need to listen. I know you're upset. I understand that. But just give me a minute, that's all I'm asking for." 

Scully actually felt herself softening at his tone. Damn him. No way. 

"No. NO! Not this time, Mulder. You can't blame this on your missing sister or any other tale from your oh-so-sad past. You're not going to manipulate me into feeling sorry for you on this one like you usually do." 

Mulder felt a shock wave run through his body. He'd expected her to be upset. But he hadn't expected this kind of personal attack and it angered him. "That's not fair, Scully." 

The heat flush of anger consumed Scully. Fair? She literally wanted to scream. She wanted to break something. "It's perfectly fair. Time and time again, I've excused your behavior, Mulder. Well, I'm not doing it any more. I've been living like a Goddamn nun because of this job, but I guess you've been out having yourself a good old time. I thought you had the same commitment to this job I did, but obviously I was wrong." 

"You're questioning MY commitment to this job? Have you lost your mind?" 

"No, but I think you finally have. You've compromised this investigation. You've committed a lot of screw-ups in your time, Mulder, but I've never seen anything so completely unethical, irresponsible, and unprofessional..." 

Mulder had finally had it. "Excuse me, Saint Scully, but it's a little hard to be lectured on propriety by someone who spent her time at the FBI academy screwing her instructor. Easy lay, easy A, right? I don't need shit from you on my personal life." 

Scully felt her face go flushed with rage. "How dare you, you bastard. That was different. Jack and--" 

A bitter laugh from Mulder cut her off. "Well, of course it was different Scully--it was you," he said with the sarcasm heavy in his voice. "And it's not my fault that you decided to retrofit your virginity. I never asked you to do that. That was your choice, I never asked--." 

Mulder broke off abruptly because he knew they were on the verge of saying about six years’ worth of pent-up resentments to each other. And if they went down that path, they would never be able to get back. God, he had to get out of here. Now. He abruptly turned away from her and walked to the door. Just as he opened it, he heard her voice again. 

"Go fuck yourself, Mulder!" 

Mulder turned back, his cold green eyes meeting her ice blue ones. "Well as it happens, Scully, I don't have to anymore." And with that, he was out the door. 

Mulder was shaking so badly by the time he got outside to the car that he dropped the keys twice while trying to get in so he could slide behind the wheel and fall apart in private. A few moments later, he saw Scully also exit the station. She threw a box of files in the back seat of the car, and drove off. 

He usually felt sick when he fought with Scully, the remorse and regret usually hitting him in a wave within moments. But not this time. Right now he didn't care if she just kept on driving all the way back to Washington DC and asked for a transfer. 

He'd expected her to be upset for dozens of reasons. But the one he hadn't counted on was that she blamed him for the fact that she had no life either. Not one time had he ever asked her to give up family and home and sex and relationships and any of the other things that went with a real life. And yet clearly, she thought that he had. He'd always thought it had been a commitment to the work, it had never occurred to him that she viewed it as a commitment to him of some sort. That was just nuts. 

Dear God, what the fuck was wrong with the two of them? It was insane. 

He started the car and backed it out of the lot. He couldn't stand this right now. He needed some sanity tonight. He needed some sanctuary. He needed a refuge from the blood and the gore and partners who held him responsible for everything wrong in their lives. 

He needed Tristan. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Tristan met Mulder's eyes as he walked in the tavern that night, he knew something was seriously wrong with him. Mulder looked so tightly wound that it was frightening. 

Mulder came up to the bar, whispering urgently. "I need to talk to you," his eyes darted about the room. "Privately....now." 

Tristan didn't argue, something in Mulder's tone told him not to question, just obey. "Go around outside to the back. I'll let you in the back door to the storeroom." Mulder nodded and left the bar. 

Tristan called June over. "Sweetie, can you watch things a moment? I need to get something out of the back." 

June had seen Mulder come in and leave. "Tris, what's wrong?" 

"Nothing, I just need a few minutes, OK?" She nodded and took over the bar. 

Tristan dug the storeroom key out of his pocket as he walked to the back of the bar. He unlocked the door, turned on the almost non-existent light as he closed and locked the door behind him. He crossed the room and opened the back door to see Mulder standing in the dark parking lot, waiting for him. Tristan motioned him inside and the door swung shut behind him. 

"Mulder, what is it?" 

"There was another death last night. We just found the body." 

Tristan closed his eyes and slumped back against the wall, feeling drained. "Shit. Oh, Mulder, that dream I started to have...I might have seen it. Shit. I'm sorry." 

"What the hell are you sorry for?" Mulder asked, his voice sounding irritated. "You would have seen it if I hadn't woken you up. This isn't your fault." 

Mulder was pacing now and as Tristan looked at him in the low light, he could see that his expression was very disturbed, his manner was completely on edge and uneasy. Something more than the murder was bothering him. 

"Mulder, what else?" 

Mulder stopped pacing and turned to face him. "Scully knows about us." 

Tristan closed his eyes a moment. He wasn't stupid. He knew the ramifications of this for Mulder.

"How? How does she know?" 

"I told her. I had to tell her. She was suspicious because you'd left work early the same night a murder occurred. I had to tell her that you were nowhere near. I had to tell her the truth; I don't know any other way to be with her. I'd planned to tell her, but not this way." Mulder stopped because he realized he was rambling.

Tristan was devastated. Mulder had crossed many professional, emotional, and social boundaries to be with him. And now he might get punished for it. The remorse that he'd drug Mulder along on his own personal fall from grace was deep. 

"Oh Mulder, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." 

Mulder's head snapped up and voice was sharp. "Why the fuck do you keep apologizing all the time?" 

Tristan was taken aback by Mulder's sudden flash of anger towards him. "I...I just meant that I know how difficult this is for you. I know that none of this is what you expected when you came here. I know you must regret all what's happened." 

Mulder's angry expression faded away. He walked over to him. "No, I didn't expect you at all. I didn't expect to ever feel what I do or to want you like I do." He took Tristan's face in his hands and kissed him roughly, backing him up against the wall, pressing hard into his mouth and grinding his hips into Tristan's. "But I don't regret a fucking thing," he rasped out between kisses. "Not one goddamned thing." 

Tristan brought his hot mouth back to his as Mulder slipped his hand down to cup and massage Tristan's cock, feeling the mass harden under the rough fabric of his jeans. He increased the stroking and rubbing as Tristan pressed into his hand. Tristan hooked his arm around Mulder's neck, pulling him closer as delved into Mulder's mouth with his tongue. 

Mulder loved the young man's response to his touch; it was heady and powerful, making him feel almost drunk with the burning desire that shot through him. After long minutes, Mulder drew away, breathing hard, wanting this man right here, right now, but still just slightly in control enough to know this was not the place. "When the hell can you get out of here?" he asked. 

Tristan could hardly hear over his pounding heart. He dug into his pocket for his key, shoving it in Mulder's hand as he took another kiss. "In about an hour. I can talk Robbie into closing. Meet me at my house." 

"I'll be there." 

Tristan stepped back and found it was necessary to untuck his shirt to hide his arousal before he went back out into the bar. He looked up to see just a glimmer of amusement come into Mulder's eyes. "Oh sure, laugh, you bastard, you did this to me." 

Mulder nodded. "That's just a start." And with that threat he pushed open the back door and was gone, leaving Tristan to stare after him. 

The next sixty minutes flowed by with the speed of a glacier. Robbie had no problem when Tristan asked him to close-up so he could leave early. For all his burly-looking menace, he considered Tristan family, and he apparently attributed it to his being stressed from last night still. Tristan didn't bother to correct him and he felt a little guilty about taking advantage of his friend's kindness. 

A little guilty, but not much. 

Mulder was waiting for him when he walked in the door to his house. He took Tristan into his arms and held on to him; just held on for the longest time, as Tristan felt his hot breath against his neck as he nuzzled his face there. Mulder needed care and attention tonight and there was nothing that Tristan wanted to give to him more.

Tristan pulled Mulder into the bedroom and took a long delicious time undressing him. He lowered Mulder on to the bed and then removed his own clothes, undressing for his lover who watched with craving and longing. Joining him on the bed, he rolled Mulder on to his stomach. Mulder folded his arms under his head and turned his face to one side to look at the man sitting next to him. 

"We're going to relax here, Mulder, both of us. There's just us here." 

He started with Mulder's feet, taking each in his hand and massaging them, using his thumbs to stroke along the soles, manipulating the tiny bones. He moved up the legs, rolling Mulder's firm calf muscles under his hands, taking each one in turn, never moving ahead too fast. Tristan glanced up at Mulder's face. His eyes were closed as he rested his head on his arms, seeming to be almost asleep. 

Tristan bent down and applied the tip of his tongue to the inside of Mulder knee, right in that little hollow. Mulder's whole body twitched as though he'd received a small electric jolt and actually, he had. His eyes opened and he looked down at Tristan. "God, do that again, please." 

Ah, he'd found one of Mulder's spots. That had been the intent of this little excursion and he intended to have them all mapped before he was done. He applied the flat of his tongue to the back of Mulder's knees, licking wetly, tickling, and then stroking. Over and over until his jaw was tired. Mulder made soft little moans, nothing big, nothing dramatic. Just sweet, small sounds of happiness. 

Tristan left Mulder's knees behind and worked his way up the back of his thighs with his hands. They felt solid and his hands wrapped around them running in firm strokes from his knees to where the curve of Mulder's ass met the top of his thigh. He leaned in again and ran his tongue along the long curve where butt met leg and Mulder again made a blissful sound and moved slightly back against him, encouraging the contact again. 

Mulder was enjoying the hands to be sure, but he was most definitely an oral pleasure guy. He liked the wet and rough feel. Tristan seemed to understand this and alternated his hand touches with his mouth, so that every inch of his skin was being stroked first by hand and then by tongue. 

Tristan's hands slipped firmly up his back delivering a traditional back massage that was making Mulder go gooey inside. He felt the hands on his shoulders and neck, kneading, rolling the tensed muscle, pushing the tension away. Tristan was leaning over him now; he could feel his breath on his neck. He felt his lips near his own, seeking a kiss which Mulder gladly turned his head and gave him, his eyes closed and feeling Tristan drink his kiss up before returning to what he was doing with his hands. 

Tristan discovered a small downy patch of fur at the base of Mulder's spine. He rubbed his cheek against it, feeling it feather against his own skin; he relaxed there a moment, resting up from his exertions in full body and tongue massage. Mulder seemed quite content to let him lay there against him and they were quiet together for a bit. 

Tristan ran a finger along the cleavage of Mulder's ass, just stroking down and back, his touch sending a gentle stimulation through Mulder's body as he heard him make another low tone of bliss. 

God, he was going to have this ass tonight. Mulder was not only going to let him fuck him, he wanted him to. He could feel it. 

He lifted his head and looked along the length of the fine body lying beside him. As he smoothed his hand along planes and valleys of Mulder's back, he remembered that he'd been the only one to touch it in five years. Mulder hadn't elaborated as to why and Tristan hadn't asked because if Mulder wanted him to know, he'd tell him. He was only just getting to know this man. But if there was one thing he knew for sure; it was that Mulder was most definitely a still water that ran very deep. 

But he still had to wonder--why him? Why had Mulder chosen him to share his body with after all this time? It made him feel both special and humble. Jesus, it really was like a gift, he thought, both surprised and embarrassed at his sentimental inclination. 

Tristan took the curves of Mulder's ass in his hands. He bent to kiss and nip the skin and muscles, nuzzling along the cleavage. Tristan's tongue slipped out and Mulder felt him lick him there, oh, God... right there. And his nerve endings shot and shivered with the sensation under Tristan's relentless tongue. He was probed and kissed and licked, followed by cool breath and the scratchy feel of Tristan's slightly rough jaw line. 

Mulder couldn't believe the sensations; it was like nothing he'd ever felt; so completely intimate and somehow forbidden. The arousal shot through him in response. The rough tongue lapping went on, now concentrating on the tiny opening and Mulder was feeling like he'd gone to heaven without having to die first. 

Tristan withdrew a bit and reaching back to the nightstand, he placed a small amount of lube on the tips of his index and middle fingers. He returned to rub them gently over the tightly puckered hole. Not really applying any pressure, just small circular movements, almost like a massage. After a few moments of this, he felt Mulder press back slightly seeking more. 

After the tonguing he'd just received, Mulder was hypersensitive. Tristan's teasing touch on his asshole was just that - teasing. He needed more. More touch, more pressure. Just more of everything. He felt Tristan's fingers withdraw a moment and then they were back. He could tell from the slick feel, he'd applied more lube and Tristan had moved to kneel between his wide spread legs. 

He felt the fingers slide from his anus to down over his perineum, running lightly over the back of his balls and pressing upwards, massaging the area between his ass and his balls. Oh God, the slight pressure on his prostate from the outside was helping to satisfy his need for more sensation. 

After a few moments, he felt the fingers slip back to his anus, where the tickling rub began again, this time from just Tristan's middle finger. He felt a slight pressure at the entrance and Mulder relaxed back against it, bearing himself open as Tristan's finger slipped up inside his body. It didn't hurt at all, as he felt the finger slide out and then back in. Tristan removed it completely and then was back, pressing outward all around the sphincter, stretching it slightly with his fingertip before moving back inside. All of this was countered by the feel of Tristan's mouth on the cheeks of his ass, kissing and licking the curve and flesh. 

Tristan's finger moved more deeply up inside now by several inches and Mulder squirmed back on the touch, remembering from the other night what pleasure he would feel in a moment. Almost, almost, alm...yes. Right there. There. "Yes," he whispered letting Tristan know that he'd found the right spot inside Mulder's body. 

"Right there, Mulder?" he asked stroking in exactly the perfect place. "Or there?" he moved his finger over and away from the spot, where the touch still felt good, but wasn't nearly so shattering. 

Mulder grunted a bit; aware he was being teased. "The first 'there'," he said wiggling his ass to get the touch back where he needed it. 

"Oh, there?" Another few long deep rubs in the right place that brought a deep sigh from Mulder. "You sure it wasn't over here?" He moved his finger away again. 

"Tristan!" Mulder was on the verge of a blood-curdling scream of frustration and he gripped the pillow under his head as he turned to look back at the man kneeling behind him. 

"OK. OK, I get it. Right here." Tristan gave up the sweet torture and judiciously applied himself to what Mulder needed. He heard Mulder call him a 'bastard' under his breath as he settled back onto his pillow. After a few moments, Tristan slipped a second finger into the tight channel, pushing a goodly amount of lube up inside Mulder, gently stretching the rectum open further. 

Mulder was feeling good. The experience was making him feel things he never had before, all sorts of new sensations. He liked the feeling of Tristan's fingers driving up into him. But when Tristan added a third finger to his rhythmic thrusting, Mulder felt a quick biting pain for the first time and he drew in a quick breath, tensing up under Tristan's hands. 

Tristan stopped all movement, just letting Mulder get used to the feeling as he felt him relax again. He placed kisses along the small of Mulder's back. "You OK? You want me to stop?" 

Mulder shook his head and looked back at the man. The moment had passed and all that remained was the sensation of being touched and filled. He wanted to feel more of that. 

He met Tristan's eyes. "No, I don't want you to stop. I want you to fuck me." 

Tristan slowly removed his fingers and moved to a kneeling position behind him. He took Mulder's hips and raised him up to his knees. He took his cock in his hand, then slid his finger into Mulder's ass one more time, again stretching the opening gently. He removed his finger just as he pushed his cock head against him, bearing forward steadily and Mulder's body opened to him, allowing him in with little resistance. Tristan thrust forward and his cock was engulfed inside Mulder, hot and tight. Slick and smooth. 

Oh God. 

Mulder made a noise he couldn't quite identify. "You OK?" Tristan asked, concerned that he had pushed in with more force than perhaps Mulder could take. 

"I just need a minute." 

He took Mulder's hips back in his hands, gently guiding him backwards. Tristan sat back on his own heels bringing Mulder down to sit astride him, so he could take control of how much or how little of Tristan's cock to take inside. He laid his head against Mulder's back between his shoulder blades as he reached around to find and stroke Mulder's cock, feeling it stiffen to rock hardness under his hands. After a moment, he felt Mulder shift on his lap. He raised and lowered his body slowly down on his penis, getting used to the feel of having someone inside. 

Sensations coursed through Mulder's body as he rested his weight back fully back against Tristan, feeling his cock slide all the way inside. The feeling of being stretched and filled was incredible, like nothing he'd known. There was no pain, other than a slight burning sensation that was not entirely unpleasant. 

He could feel Tristan's hot breath on his back and the more familiar feeling of his arms around him, his hands reaching down to stroke and fondle his cock and his balls and coming up to rub and caress his chest and nipples. He was held and caressed and supported, surrounded and invaded and overtaken. Every nerve in his body was alive and singing. 

And he just wanted more again. 

He lifted his weight slowly from the other man, feeling Tristan follow with him as he moved back to the more conventional position, supporting his own weight on his hands. He felt Tristan's hand slid smoothly down his back and settle on his hips as he began to fuck him; long and slow, filling him completely as he felt Tristan's balls slap up against him. The sliding motion back and forth through his tightly stretched anus was different from anything he'd ever felt. The friction built, as did the different-feeling pleasure. 

He felt Tristan press down on his hips slightly, lowering him down just a bit. The slightly changed angle brought Tristan's thrusting directly in contact with his prostate and his sudden low cry was completely involuntary. It was a moment before he could form words as pleasure surged through his blood, up into his head and down into his cock. 

"Oh God...God. Tristan." Mulder's hands clenched the loose bed sheet into tight balls in his fists yet another sensation was layered on top of everything else. "Oh God, fuck me," he pleaded quite unnecessarily. "Oh God, Tristan, it feels so good." 

"Of course it feels good, Mulder." Tristan smiled through his own mounting pleasure. Mulder was close to insensible and that pleased him to no end. Tristan reached around to take Mulder's cock back into his hand, stroking Mulder off as he thrust hard down into Mulder's tight ass. He wasn't good for much longer, he usually didn't come this fast, but he was beyond holding back to prolong the pleasure. "It's going to feel even better." 

Mulder had closed his eyes and his head was too heavy to hold up. In the darkness all feeling intensified. "Harder," he whispered in the dark. "More." He felt more firm strokes on his cock as the hard fucking went on in his ass, his pleasure was rising and climbing within. But not there yet, not there yet, not there.... 

Mulder's body seized and he felt the orgasm roll, taking over his skin, and he groaned with the pleasure of it, "Ahhh, oh God. God." The hard contractions of his ejaculation shot his sperm over Tristan's hand and to the sheets below. Tristan continued to pump his cock as Mulder twitched and cried out under him. 

It was all Mulder could do to keep from collapsing entirely flat but he struggled to stay where he was so that Tristan could finish. He didn't have long to wait, Tristan released his grip on Mulder's cock, grabbed on to his hips and pulled Mulder back to meet his forward thrusts as he fucked him, mindless of anything except watching his cock slide in and out of the man below him. The shuddering end came within moments and Tristan left his come deep up inside Mulder as he gripped his hips. 

Mulder collapsed forward down onto the bed and the wet spot. He didn't care. He could die at this moment. Tristan draped over him like a blanket, his own orgasm still sending shivers through his body. He rested his head between Mulder's shoulder blades as he gasped for breath, like a fish out of water. 

Mulder took Tristan's weight gladly, he wanted him there, it never even occurred to ask him to move. Tristan's cock, still deep within, began to soften slightly. He felt Tristan move to withdraw it gently, exiting slowly from his body which gave up a slight painful twinge as the trespasser left. But Tristan remained on top of him as though he didn't want to lose the full body contact. Mulder felt surrounded and enveloped and safe. God, how could he ever give this up? 

"Mulder, you make me feel good," Tristan whispered to him. 

Mulder barely nodded against the sheets as the weak muscled languor washed through him. "You too," he managed to whisper back before sleep came softly to him and Tristan followed a few minutes later. 

It was Tristan who awoke first. He looked at the night stand clock in the low light and saw that about an hour had passed. Mulder was a wonderful mattress, but he needed to move. He lifted his head and realized he'd been so out that he'd started to drool on Mulder's back. He smiled and wiped the sleeping man's skin with his hand, then placed a kiss on his shoulder blade for no good reason other than he wanted to. It was only then that he realized that he'd slept hard with no dreams. 

He needed to fuck himself to sleep more often. 

He carefully leveraged himself off Mulder and then off the bed, trying not to disturb him as he slept on. He made his way into the bathroom, squinting in the sudden brightness when he turned on the light. The August heat and his passion for Mulder had left him sweaty so he took a quick cooling shower. He toweled off lightly, and as he brushed his teeth, he looked at himself in the mirror. He smiled a little; he'd never been so content in his life. But even so, he wondered just what the hell he was going to do about all this, because he doubted that this could stay as it was, as much as he wanted it to. He shut the light off. 

Tristan came out of the bathroom to see that while he'd been in there, Mulder had rolled over onto his back. He padded out to the kitchen in the dark and got a bottle of water, sex always made him thirsty, and then returned to the bedroom. He stood in the doorway, sipping the water and watching Mulder sleep. 

Sleep was too mild a word. He’d turned into a human rock, still and heavy. Oblivious to Tristan's movements. Mulder was now sprawled on his back in the center of the bed, having apparently decided to take his half out of the middle. His one hand rested gently over his flat belly and the other was extended out on the bed, as though seeking something, his fingers gently curved. He smiled at the soft snurguling noise that Mulder made on occasion as he slept on. 

Tristan approached the bed and set the water bottle on the night table. He stretched out next to Mulder in the little room left to him. Propping himself up on his elbow, he leaned his head against his hand. He looked over Mulder's skin, exquisitely sweat-burnished in the gentle light. He was so beautiful. Tristan had never had anything this beautiful, in a strange way it was frightening for him, just as his feelings were. 

All his previous sexual encounters had been just that--encounters. Moments in time of intense gratification. Relationships that mostly lasted for just hours. Here and there, some had extended to a few weeks or in one case even a few months. But even so, when they were over, they were over. He'd never felt any lingering sense of loss or of missing someone. 

But this was something more and certainly not something he'd expected to be dealing with at this moment in his life. And again he wondered just what he'd gotten himself into. And if he was feeling that way, he could only imagine what Mulder was feeling. He knew today had been just awful for him. 

And yet he was still here. He'd come to him tonight. Instead of turning away, he'd stepped forward. 

Tristan trailed his fingers lightly over the back of the hand that rested on Mulder's stomach. Running it gently up his arm, he encountered a long narrow scar that ran across it. It was faint and well healed, but still noticeable. His earlier explorations of Mulder's body had turned up a couple of scars and now he wondered just how many there were. Scars told stories about a person. 

He looked up to Mulder's face to study it carefully. On his right cheekbone close to his hairline was another small scar. Further up, closer to his temple was another and on the left side of his forehead close to his hairline was another. Tristan leaned in close to look at it and since he was so close, he couldn't resist taking a kiss from his sleeping lover. 

He brushed his lips gently, teasing. He touched them again and then again. He opened his mouth and took the caress deeper. He felt Mulder's lips part, taking him in, responding. After a moment he drew away and opened his eyes to see Mulder looking at him sleepily. 

He smiled just a bit, as he blinked slowly. "I guess I fell asleep." He scooted over just a bit to make more room on the bed. 

"Well, you probably needed it. Are you feeling OK? I mean you don't hurt or anything?" 

Mulder shook his head. "A little burning, nothing more than that. Mostly, I feel really, really tranquil." 

"Good. And by the way, you're officially not a virgin anymore." 

Mulder laughed. "Thank you." 

"You're welcome, it was my pleasure." 

"So, do I get a certificate for my wall?" 

Tristan laughed as he began to kiss his way down Mulder's neck, over his chest, not really intending to stimulate, just to soothe and maintain contact as neither man had recuperated from their previous exertions just yet. Mulder's hand came up to caress the side of his face. As he turned to place a kiss into Mulder's right palm, he noticed some tiny jagged scars that graced the tips of his fingers. "What happened here?" he asked absently, applying his lips to the fingertips. 

"I cut them on the metallic exoskeleton of a mechanical cockroach sent here from another planet." 

Tristan's lips stopped moving and he looked up to meet Mulder's gaze. The man was dead-ass serious. To his credit, Tristan neither laughed, nor looked particularly incredulous. Mulder had told him that he investigated weird phenomena, so he was willing to buy this one. "OK," he answered and turned his attention back to Mulder's body. He touched the scar on Mulder's right forearm. "And this?" 

"A murder suspect attacked me with a kitchen knife." 

That answer disturbed Tristan more than a little. It was really the first time that he'd considered what all else that Mulder's job entailed. He'd kind of just assumed that he investigated but didn't actually get in the line of fire. This was a little scary. He trailed his finger over the scar again. "What happened?" he asked and then thought better of it. "I'm sorry. Do you mind me asking?" 

Mulder shook his head slightly; his expression grew more serious. "It really wasn't her fault. Her mind was being affected by control toxins being tested by the government to create paranoia. She perceived that inanimate objects were telling her to kill in self-defense." 

Tristan ran his hand along Mulder's thigh, where he encountered the large ragged scar. "This looks like it hurt." 

"I got that when I was shot by a serial killer we were tracking. Some of the scar is from the surgical incisions. The bullet had ripped open the femoral artery and I almost bled to death." 

Tristan's hand caressed the large scar. It wasn't ugly to him. It was part of Mulder. But the meaning behind the scar disturbed him. God, why had he ever thought this guy sat just behind a desk? Tristan next found a small straight scar on Mulder's cheekbone, just below his right eye near his temple. He stroked it gently with the tip of his finger. 

"That's from a razor blade. Someone was killing young men by mutilating their faces with a razor blade and they bled to death. It turned out to be another profiler, an FBI agent who'd been my superior. He'd turned into the demons he'd chased. The evil took a hold of him and in the end, I had to shoot him to stop him." 

Tristan took a deep breath. Again, this was something he hadn't really considered. Mulder may have had to kill people. He knew it was stupid to be surprised, the man was an FBI agent, he carried a gun, of course that was part of his job. But somehow, he'd thought that Mulder was an investigator; a desk guy who used his mind and let someone else do the actual apprehending. These stories he was hearing made a very different picture in his mind than what he'd thought. He didn't ask if the man Mulder had shot had died. As he caressed Mulder's skin, he found the set of aligned scars low on Mulder's left ribs. These were wider, not like the fine knife cuts, more like gouges. 

"Those are from what is known as The Jersey Devil. She was a sort of pre-historic wild human who lived in the deep in the woods. I wanted to help her, but the local police killed her. She didn't need to die, there was no reason for it other than ignorance." Mulder's voice sounded angry at the memory. 

Tristan found another faint scar that ran across his chest, just above his left nipple. "Is this from the same thing?" 

Mulder shook his head. "No. We were never sure what it was. We were in the Florida Everglades and it was stalking people. I believed that it was defending its territory against encroaching civilization." 

He next slid his fingers up to the large round scar on Mulder's shoulder. 

"Another bullet wound. My partner shot me," Mulder told him. 

"This partner? The one you have now?" 

Mulder nodded. 

"Why?" 

"She did it to stop me. I was about to execute an unarmed suspect while under the influence of drugs. She did it to save my ass. It wasn't as serious as the other bullet wound." 

Tristan was having trouble getting his mind to wrap around the concept of a not-so-bad gunshot wound. As he looked at Mulder's face, he now saw a fine, fine scar that ran horizontally across the entire front of Mulder's throat. It was so faint that he hadn't even noticed it before. He was getting distressed now. "God, Mulder, what's this from?" 

"I was garroted by an assassin who was trying to kill someone I wanted to protect." 

Jesus fucking Christ. How many times had this man almost died? Why the hell did he keep on doing this job? He'd served his time. He leaned in to kiss Mulder's neck. At the base of it, there were several very small, almost perfectly round scars. He'd noticed those before. "These seem newer than the others," he said running his fingertips over them. 

Mulder nodded. "Just a few months ago. We were trapped in a Florida hurricane while we were investigating a water-borne parasite that slowly suffocated its victims to death. It latched on to me when I was all alone." 

Mulder's expression changed a little. It told Tristan that this memory was still raw, a little closer to the surface than the others. "I couldn't breathe, I really thought I was going to die, I kept struggling, but I just couldn't get enough air. It was like drowning on land. I tried to get to my partner but she--" He broke off suddenly and looked away for the first time. 

Tristan caressed his face. "But what, Mulder?" he asked gently. 

Mulder just shook his head slowly as he went very still and seemed to be focusing on some unseen spot on the floor next to the bed. 

Tristan didn't press him. He sighed; feeling very bad that he'd even started this. He'd just wanted to know a little more about Mulder. And he'd been right, these scars told stories. But they were all ugly and strange and unnatural. And for the first time, Tristan realized just how little he really knew about the man he was lying next to. He didn't really have a clue about what made this man tick or why he continued in a job so blatantly dangerous. 

Sadly, Tristan reached up and took Mulder's face gently in his hands. He kissed his forehead softly, just making a caressing contact. As he drew away, he saw two tiny round scars near Mulder's hairline. He had no intention of asking about them. Instead, he simply nuzzled his lips against Mulder's skin, just laying down gentle touches, wishing he knew a way to keep him safe, to keep him here with him. He was beginning to fear that both desires were impossible. He wanted to protect this man from harm, but he didn't have a clue how when Mulder seemed determined to rush towards it, like steel to a magnet.

"Those were a mistake," he heard Mulder say quietly. 

Tristan sighed inwardly, but if Mulder wanted to talk about it, they'd talk about it. He drew Mulder's head down against his shoulder, cradling him against his body. "A mistake?" he asked. 

"They're from a medical procedure. It was a mistake." There was a lonely, desolate tone to Mulder's voice and Tristan knew the tiny, tiny scars covered a very large wound. He felt Mulder's arms slide around his body, holding on to him and he pulled Mulder even closer in his arms. 

"A procedure for what, Mulder?" 

It took him a long time to answer. Tristan looked down and saw an expression in the older man's eyes that he'd not seen before. It was dreamy look, almost as though he had gone somewhere else for a bit and his eyes looked at something Tristan couldn't see. 

"I've been searching for a memory for what seems like almost my whole life," he finally said but as though talking aloud to himself. "I thought that the procedure would help me find it. But I was wrong." There was another long silence and Tristan felt Mulder's hand stroke up and down his back, seeking comfort in the touch of skin. "It was a mistake," Mulder added for the third time with a shake of his head. 

Tristan closed his eyes in despair, when he opened them, he looked back to the man in his arms. "Mulder, why do you do this? This job is going to kill you someday," he said. 

Mulder held his gaze a long time, looking openly him. "It might," was all he would answer. 

Deep sadness washed over Tristan at the resignation he heard behind the words. "Mulder..." he started before realizing he had nothing to offer him, no other words to say. And then because he didn't know what else to do, he kissed him completely. They stayed that way together a long time; the only sound in the room was the soft sound of their breathing as they sought their solace from the other. 

After a moment, Mulder drew away. He seemed to rouse himself out of his reverie and he turned in Tristan's arms so that he lay with his back pressed to Tristan's chest. 

"Hey, you didn't ask me about this one." Mulder's voice had turned lighter; he was very deliberately trying to ease the melancholy between them as he pointed to a long thin scar that curled around his calf. "Ask me about that one." 

Tristan smiled tenderly and played along. "OK, Mulder, how did you get that scar?" 

"I was attacked by a phone booth when I was a kid." 

"A phone booth?" 

"Yeah. My friends and me were having a squirt gun war at the park. I was running full speed, only I was running backwards because I was shooting at the other kids. When I turned around suddenly there was this glass phone booth about six inches in front of me. I swear to you, it leaped out and attacked me. I slammed full speed into it and shattered all the glass. The other kids told me I bounced off it like I was Wyle E. Coyote from the Roadrunner." 

Tristan laughed at the picture in his mind. "God, Mulder. You ARE Wyle E. Coyote." It was the perfect metaphor now that he thought about it. "That's it? No demons, aliens or mutants? Just a close encounter with the Acme Phone Booth Company?" 

The man in his arms was laughing too and it was a good sound. "Hey, it's not every man that does battle with a big glass box and lives to tell about it." 

Their laughter faded and Mulder settled back to sleep against him. Tristan knew he wouldn't sleep much, if at all, but he didn't fear the possibility of sleep as much as he had. And if he stayed awake, it gave him time to think quietly and just feel. 

Tristan now knew that like the Coyote, Mulder would always be back for more, despite the odds. He wasn't about to permit any kind of defeat. He suspected that Mulder had some sort of personal quest also, he was too driven for his actions to be entirely altruistic. But whether it was personal or not, he still wore the very visible proof of his obstinacy on his body and Tristan could only begin to guess of the scars he wore on the inside. 

He was filled with great pride and admiration for Mulder; he'd never known anyone quite like him. Hell, he never even knew people like him even existed. 

But the thing he admired also scared the shit out of him. And Tristan wondered if he was up to the responsibility of loving this man. He wasn't at all sure he had the courage to stand by and watch Mulder live the life he did. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was Sunday. Officially Mulder's day off. Saturday was officially his day off too, but it rarely worked out that way it seemed. He'd taken refuge from the heat of the afternoon over at the tavern where he sat in a back booth drinking a beer and working on his laptop. Tristan wasn't there at the moment. 

He and Tristan had spent the entire morning in bed. Reading the paper, drinking coffee, talking of the small things in their lives like movies or sports or favorite foods. He'd told Tristan everything he knew of California from the few visits he'd made there. In between, they'd spent the time making love. Mulder was ready to call it that now. He hadn't said it to Tristan, but that's what it was. He needed to say it to him, perhaps tonight. 

But right now Mulder was at loose ends in a small town on a late afternoon. He'd grown up in a small town; Chilmark was smaller than Wind River. Once, when they'd been on a case in Home, Pennsylvania, he'd told Scully that if he ever had to settle down and build a home, he'd want it to be a small place. She'd seemed dubious of the concept and he'd told her that she didn't know him as well as she thought she did. But he wondered now if what she was doubtful of was the concept of him even settling down and building a home, rather than the place where he would do it. She probably did know him as well as she thought. 

But this afternoon he was bored. Tristan's boss had called and had asked him to go to Casper to pick up a supply order that had gotten screwed up by the liquor distributor. He'd asked if Mulder wanted to ride with him but he'd declined as he hadn't touched his field notes and reports for a couple of days. He needed to attend to work. But now he'd wished he'd gone. 

He'd tried to work for a while in the hot and cramped motel room but after a bit he'd picked up his laptop and headed over to the tavern. So here he sat, slowly creating his report. June kept him well supplied with things to nibble on and to drink. And basically, he was just killing time and waiting until his lover came home. 

His life had taken a strange turn indeed. 

His cell phone chirped at him and Mulder hesitated. Only one person would be calling him and he was not at all sure he was up to talking to her. But he answered by the second ring anyway. 

"Mulder, it's me," she said unnecessarily as she always did. "I need to talk to you." She paused and he waited in silence. "I mean in person. Can we meet somewhere?" 

He was quiet a moment himself. She was calling for a public meeting. He almost laughed because custom, of course, dictated that a public meeting would keep things civil. Well-bred people such as he and Scully didn't get out of control in public. This was a delicate dance, not unlike a hostage negotiation. God, how had they ever reached this place? Was he even up to this? Her voice interrupted his train of thought. 

"Mulder, please." 

Her voice sounded strained and he just barely refrained from asking her if she was OK out of habit. She was fine--wasn't she always? He also wondered if she expected him to apologize to her or if she had something else entirely to tell him. But he'd never know unless he talked to her. 

"I'm at the tavern right now if you want to come over."

Now the silence on the phone was hers. Mulder knew the last place on earth that Scully wanted to come to was the tavern. Tough. If she wanted to talk, she could just drag her ass over here. He wasn't going to her because, yes, he was feeling just that petty. And if she wouldn't come to him then hey, he guessed that the last six years together counted for exactly shit. 

"I'm at the motel. I'll be right over." 

Mulder couldn't have been more surprised. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Scully entered the tavern; it was deserted being late afternoon. In the far back corner booth sat Mulder. He looked up to meet her eyes as she approached and she slid down into the booth opposite him. 

"Do you want something to drink?" he asked. She nodded and he motioned June over and they ordered. They were silent as they waited for their beers in deference to some strange convention that demanded that serious talk not begin until refreshments were served. June set the drinks down and clearly sensing the tension, said that she'd run a tab and disappeared. They each took a drink from their respective bottles. 

"I don't think I've ever seen you drink a beer," he said by way of making strained, but polite conversation. Certainly, they were not even close to making apologies for things said, but it was an attempt to break the polar ice between them. 

Scully had been up all night. First, she'd been in Casper doing the autopsy and then the rest of the night, she been pondering this thing with Mulder. Her emotions were all over the map. Mulder's actions had surprised her. Her own reactions had surprised her and she sought desperately to understand and make it make sense. It was only by this afternoon that she realized that she couldn't make any sense of it without his help, just like anything else. She looked at the man that she'd shared a strange half-life with for the last six-years and decided to skip the conventional preamble. She set her drink down. 

"Mulder, last summer in your hallway. What was all that about?" 

He almost coughed up his drink. God. Leave it to Scully to drive right into the heart of the matter. The one subject they had never spoken of again by silent mutual consent, but which had never left either of their minds for a moment. Mulder decided to be just as direct. 

"It was about me realizing that you honest-to-God didn't know how important you are to me." 

"And what would have happened if fate hadn't interrupted us?" 

"I would have asked you to come back inside my apartment and let me show you." He paused a moment and then asked his own question. "Would you have come if I'd asked?" 

"Yes." She answered him without hesitation and he seemed a bit surprised. Why would that surprise him? Didn't he know? How could he not know? Was he fucking blind? 

Was she? 

She took a long breath. "So what changed between then and now, Mulder?" 

"Nothing has changed Scully." 

A slight, mocking laugh escaped her. "I would beg to differ. Are you in love with him?" 

Mulder's resolve to be honest wavered. He wasn't ready to say it aloud and he certainly wasn't going to say it to her before he said it to him. "He needs me." 

"Isn't that a cop-out answer?" 

Yes, it was, Scully did indeed know him well. 

He tried again. "I understood in a unique way what he's going through. And I needed to take care of him as best I could. I want to protect him from what's happening to him." 

"You make it sound very altruistic, Mulder. So where does the sex come in--I'm assuming you were there for that for that part too?" 

Mulder leaned forward; not sure he could make her understand what he barely understood himself. "He wanted me, that's true. He made me feel wanted, Scully, and I needed that. I don't know if I can even make you understand how much I needed that. But I won't lie to you--I wanted him too. I've never felt so consciously attracted to a man before. You know, where you feel that inexorable sexual pull just looking at someone. I can't tell you how much it surprised me. And the truth is that it was there from the minute I laid eyes on him, and I don't mean in person, I mean from the moment I first read his case, looked at his picture, before I even knew that he's gay." 

He knew that was a lot for her to digest, but she seemed to be listening. "So what does that make you, Mulder?" she finally asked, 

He signed a little. "I don't fucking know, Scully. I don't regret what's happened. But I can't explain it either." 

But she pressed him, as she always did. "Are you sure you're not just smoothing over something deeper? I mean are we talking about behavior that's latent or aberration?" 

Mulder shrugged and shook his head. "It's not that I won't answer you, Scully. It's that I honestly can't. You're talking to someone who has had his first sexual encounter with a member of his own sex just two days ago. So I'm just not able to give cogent argument on the vagaries of that behavior, one way or the other." 

Scully nodded and seemed to accept this answer. She took another drink of her beer and seemed to contemplate the golden liquid a moment before looking back at him. "Mulder, if your hand hadn't been forced, would you have ever told me about all this?" 

God, this honesty shit was exposing more of him to her than if he was naked. No wonder they avoided it.

"The first time...the moment he and I... finished, I went to the bathroom to hide out. And my first coherent thought was: Oh God, how am I ever going to tell Scully about this?" 

That answer seemed to surprise the hell out of her. "Mulder where is this going? What path are you on now?" 

He sighed; this was certainly something he'd wondered himself. "I suspect that where it is going is nowhere, Scully. Tristan and I barged into each other's lives for this moment in time. He has plans for his life and I'm not sure they include me. I just know that we need to finish this case before either of us can look at anything else." 

"So we finish this case and then what? You're going to go back to Washington D.C. and start dating guys?" 

A sad laugh escaped him. "I didn't date women before, why would I start dating men?" 

He saw her smile for the first time, but it was joyless. That was OK, this whole thing between them made him sad too. But now he needed to know something about her, what her plans were. 

"Scully, I have no life in any conventional sense of the word. All I have is the work. That's a choice I made for myself. But from what you said the other day, I'm thinking you feel that I somehow imposed that decision on you too. Is that what you think? Do you feel that I've stopped you from having the other things you want? Have I stopped you from being happy?" 

Oh Christ, she thought, that was too much of a question to answer. 

Of course, he hadn't. As confused as she was by all this, she couldn't blame him for her choices. But when they began to work together and their lives became inexorably intertwined, she had felt the need to offer up the same unspoken pledge to the work that he had. No, he hadn't asked it of her. But it had been her proof of her commitment to the work and to him. Only it seems it was a sacrifice he hadn't asked for, didn't expect, and didn't want. And now she just felt supremely foolish and perhaps that was at the root of her anger. 

God, how could she even begin to explain all that to him? 

As fate would have it, she was saved by her cell phone. She was tempted to let it ring but as always, the obligation to the work came before her. She answered it. 

Mulder watched as she listened, nodded, and said 'uh-huh' several times. She disconnected and looked back to him. "Mulder, I have to go. That was the coroner's office. My lab tests are done and I want to review the casting we took of some of the footprints in the area and do the comparisons. I need to head back over there now." 

She slid out of the booth and stood up. But he reached out and touched her hand.

"Scully, we're not through talking, are we?" 

She turned back and looked at him, shaking her head. "I'll call you in the morning, if that's OK." 

Mulder nodded as he watched her go, his well-tended anger fading only to be replaced with dejection. He looked down and wasted a few moments staring at his hands and trying to figure out a way to make this all work out in his head. He wasn't sure he could do it. It was a moment before he became aware that June was standing next to him. She had another cold beer in hand, which she set on the table in front of him. 

"Thought you could use this. Jesus, you look like you lost your best friend or somebody ran over your dog or something like that." 

A weak, dark laugh escaped Mulder at the irony. "Something like that," he echoed. 

"Was that your partner?" 

Mulder nodded. 

"I take it she's not taking the thing with Tristan well?" 

Mulder looked up at her in dismay. "Jesus, is nothing a secret in this town?" 

June sat down in the booth next to him. "Don't worry, sweetie. It's just cause I know Tristan. I can see how he looks at you." 

Mulder sighed and took a drink of his beer. "She's taking it was well as can be expected." 

"Agent Mulder," June paused a moment and looked around almost as though to make sure they were alone. "Let me explain something that you might not be getting." She reached over, took a sip of Scully's beer, and then leaned into Mulder's space, talking quietly. "I respect what Tristan is. But his being that way don't mean that I don't have feelings for him. It don't mean that I'm not attracted to him. I mean, he may be gay, but I'm not." 

She looked away; a little embarrassed at her confession. "He's the kindest, most loyal man I've ever met. He's funny -- He can always make me laugh when I'm down about something. He's seen me through some really tough times. God knows, he's damn good looking and sexy as all hell and yet he's got this big gangly puppy-dog quality about him. But Tristan is too damn smart for this little town; he needs to get the hell out of here and I know that. But when he goes....it'll break my heart." She looked sadly at Mulder, meeting his eyes again. "Feelings don't go away just because they're impossible to realize." 

Mulder looked at the little barmaid for a long time as he took her hand where it lay on the table and squeezed it. Then he put his arm around her and hugged her as though he would a six-year-old who'd scraped her knee. "I'm sorry. I didn't know you felt that way about him." 

She gave a small laugh. "Oh, no one does sweetie, I make sure of that." 

After a moment, she straightened back up. She took another drink of beer and when she turned back to him now, her eyes again had that flirty sparkle they usually did. "But what I'm trying to tell you, Agent Mulder, is that right now, your partner's got a really vivid picture in her mind of you with your cock in another man's mouth. And trust me on this one, that's a little tough for a girl to take." 

Mulder just stared at June as he felt a blush creep up over his face at her bluntness. 

"So you gotta give her a little time. She'll get past it and then you two can work out whatever else you need to work out." 

He smiled a little at her. "You may be too smart for this town too." 

She nodded as she stood up and picked up the empty beer bottles. Suddenly she leaned down and dropped a quick kiss on his cheek. 

"I will say one thing, Agent Mulder. Tristan's got damn good taste." 

Mulder stared after her retreating figure. He sat there a while as he finished his beer. He went to the bathroom, packed up his laptop, and headed out of the bar. The sun was setting and the stars were appearing again. He went for a walk and looked up at the sky as they began to sparkle in the dark sky. He walked for about an hour, thinking about Scully's questions, thinking about what June said, thinking about how Tristan needed to get out of this place. He was finding few answers just yet. He'd find them though. He knew he would. That's what he did best. 

He glanced down at his watch in the darkness. Tristan would be home shortly. He headed back to the motel to change and head over to Tristan's, the anticipation already rising in him. 

When he got to the motel, he unlocked the door and stepped inside, closing it as he set the laptop on the floor. He flipped the switch by the door, but the overhead light didn't come on. Shit. 

Mulder cautiously started to cross the room in the dark to turn on the lamp by the bed. He only made it halfway when he felt the excruciating blow to the side of his head that sent him reeling backwards. 

He tried to regain his balance as he reached for his gun with one hand and instinctively put the other up to his head. He felt blood tricking through his fingers as he tried to recover from the stun and see in the darkness. 

A second strike with something heavy on his right hand sent the weapon flying from his fingers even as he felt the bones on the back of his hand give way. He cried out in pain, doubling forward just as another blow to the head slammed him back up against the wall and silenced him as he slid unconscious to the floor. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mulder awoke to near darkness. He blinked slowly as consciousness returned. A tiny naked bulb hung from a cord over his head, giving off a pitifully small amount a light. Just outside the circle of light, he could hardly see a thing. No windows. In one corner, he could see the lower half of a rickety staircase, the top disappearing up into the darkness. Judging from the cinder block walls and the sour damp smell, he was in a basement. 

He was lying on his side and he struggled to sit up he fully realized that his hands were bound behind him. The feeling on his wrists was smooth and cold, indicating that metal chain and not rope, held his hands securely. His right hand ached like a son of a bitch and he knew the bones were broken. It felt swollen, he could barely flex his fingers, and when he did so, it sent pain radiating up his arm. 

His feet were hobbled together. Mulder blinked as he tried to clear his head and at the same time quell the rising panic that began as he struggled with his bonds. He tried to ignore the throbbing pain in his hand, shoulders, and head as he tried to form a plan of what to do, how to get out of this. 

His mouth was dry and he felt thirsty which led him to believe that he may have already been here several hours. As he ran his tongue over his dry lips, it dawned on him that while he was bound securely, he wasn't gagged. That realization compounded the mounting fear because that meant who ever had taken him wasn't worried about anyone hearing him if he called for help. 

Swinging his legs in front of him, he was able to sit up despite the wave of dizziness. The throbbing in his head didn't cease. He closed his eyes and leaned forward a bit, trying to still the spinning. After a moment, he opened his eyes, again staring at the floor, trying to focus in on what to do. It was then that he realized that the ice-cold cement floor was covered with dark irregular stains. 

Oh God. 

Wanting to look away from what he was seeing, he raised his eyes. There in the dim light, he realized that the same stains were splattered up the walls, extending many feet as though placed there with great force. The confusion that had mercifully clouded his mind left entirely to be replaced by dread and hopelessness. 

He was in deep shit trouble. There wasn't a doubt in his mind about who had taken him and what was going to happen. 

Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit. 

Mulder began to scream for help as he struggled with his bonds, ignoring the pain. But even as he did so, he knew it was useless for at least eight men's screams had gone unheard before his. He was about to be the ninth. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tristan wasn't quite sure of what to make of what was going on. It was late and Mulder hadn't shown up at his house. He hadn't called, he hadn't left a message on his machine, no note. No word at all. 

At first, he'd just assumed he was working. But as time went on, he began to wonder what was happening. He'd called Mulder on his cell phone and got no answer. He tried calling the motel and ringing his room with still no answer. He called over to the tavern and talked to June. She told him that he'd left the bar about seven-thirty and that he'd been talking with his partner just before that. 

He thought a moment about calling Agent Scully. But he decided against it. The last thing Mulder needed was for him to start tracking him down like he was some wayward boyfriend who couldn't be trusted. 

Maybe he was at the Sheriff's station or maybe he had gone somewhere with his partner. He knew that the fight they'd had weighed on him so maybe he was with her, trying to straighten things out. A strange jealously bubbled under the surface at that thought, but he tried to dismiss that. Maybe he just needed some time to himself, a lot had happened in the last few days and he could understand that. 

But still, you'd think he'd at least call. He was a little uneasy about that. 

By two a.m. and endless pacing, Tristan's resolve to be mature about all this left him and he got in his jeep to head over to the motel. The light was off in Mulder's room and the rental car wasn't there. But his partner might have the car, he reasoned. 

He sat a few moments wondering if he was nuts. Jesus, here he was, sitting in a motel parking lot in the middle of the night spying on his lover. He'd officially passed into pathetic behavior. But something just wasn't right and he couldn't shake that feeling anymore.

Well, since he'd gone this far, he might as well go all the way in his journey into humiliation. He crossed the parking lot and knocked on Mulder's door. No answer. He knocked again and harder this time. "Mulder?" No answer. 

He looked down at Agent Scully's room. He walked over to it reluctantly. Fuck. Oh fuck. He was going to do this; he couldn't believe it. He raised his hand to knock. 

Suddenly he was startled by headlights turning into the parking lot. He turned and, in the moonlight, he saw Mulder's rental car turn into the drive and pull into a parking space. He relaxed. Oh, thank God. The door opened and out stepped Agent Scully. 

With no Mulder. Shit. What was this? 

She approached him cautiously. "What are you doing here, Mr. Hunt?" 

"I was looking for Mulder." 

She lifted her chin a little, clearly surprised. "He's not here?" 

"No, he was supposed to meet me tonight and he never showed up. I began to get worried." 

A dark look crossed her face. She crossed to his door and knocked. "Mulder?" 

"I did that," he said with exasperation. 

She looked at him then reached into her pocket and pulled out a device of some sort. It sort of looked like a Swiss army knife. She flipped it open, bent down and within a minute, she had the door unlocked. She pushed the door open. 

"Mulder?" Scully tried to flip on the light but it wasn't working and everything in her went on alert. Something wasn't right. She drew her gun. "Stay here," she said to Tristan as she entered the darkened room. 

The curtains were drawn but a little moonlight from the door illuminated the room just enough for her to cross to the nightstand. "Mulder?" She reached down and turned on the light, throwing the room into brightness. 

Oh shit. 

There'd been a struggle. A table and chair had been knocked over. Both Mulder's cell phone and his gun were scattered on the floor. 

Scully looked around the room again and this time she saw something on the wall that caught her attention and she moved closer. It was a bloody handprint. Scully's heart constricted and she turned to Tristan who had ventured into the room after her and was looking at what she was seeing with horror. 

She noticed the window at the back of the room was open. As she approached it, she saw that there was blood on the windowsill also. 

Mulder. Oh God. She snapped open her cell phone and called the Sheriff's office. She went to the room next to Mulder's and banged on the door until a sleepy trucker answered it. He'd heard some noise earlier, about eight. But he'd thought it was the TV or something. One by one, Scully woke up every person in the tiny motel. What had they seen, what cars were in the lot, what noises had they heard, had they seen Mulder, had they seen anybody?

No one had seen squat. 

More help arrived. Within hours, Scully knew that the blood type and handprint were Mulder's. She knew that the back window had been jimmied and that the overhead light bulb had been carefully removed. From how the furniture was scattered, it looked like someone had waited for Mulder then ambushed him in the dark. They weren't sure what kind of wound the blood came from but obviously, Mulder had struggled for his gun. 

It was a motel room and besides Mulder's, there were dozens of other fingerprints in the room. Some fibers and hair were recovered, but they could belong to anyone. And they were useful only AFTER they had caught a suspect. It would be a miracle if they could pull a match of any kind from the databases. Besides Scully knew this had been planned, it was unlikely that Mulder's abductor would leave them a nice calling card like a fingerprint. 

Night wore into morning and then afternoon. Scully had interviewed every witness there was, she'd overseen all the collection of evidence. And now she sat on the edge of Mulder's bed in his room looking at her notes, trying to investigate something that she shouldn't be. She was too close to this. She felt nauseated with the fear and dread. It was quiet here now; all the support personnel had packed up and headed back to the Sheriff's station. It was just her and... 

"Agent Scully?" 

She lifted her eyes and looked at the distraught young man who stood before her in the doorway. Tristan had been there the whole time and Scully had been too busy to make any effort to get him to leave. He'd stayed well back out of her way, answering her repeated questions and watching all the goings on with terrified eyes. 

As she looked up at him, she realized that all her science and procedure and technique had failed her. They were failing Mulder. Right now, the only hope she had to cling to was Mulder's resolute belief in this man. 

"Why Mulder? Why did he take Mulder?" 

She shook her head slowly, looking up at him. "I don't know. Maybe because he's working on this case. I don't know. Maybe he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. I don't know. And I don't give a shit about that right now. As best I can figure, Mulder's been missing for about eighteen hours right now which if this guy runs true to form, he's running out of time... I need you to tell me where he is." 

Tristan's face got dark with rage. "I don't know where the fuck he is. Jesus Christ, I had nothing to do with this. Why can't you believe that?" 

Scully rose to her feet, noticing as she did so he was Mulder's height. She had to lift her face to look at him just as she did with Mulder. 

"I do believe that, Mr. Hunt," she said calmly though she had never felt less calm in her life. But she had to stay in control. "But I also have to believe that you do know where he is. It's got to be there in your mind somewhere. Mulder believed that and his instincts are rarely wrong when it comes to people. So right now, I need to believe Mulder and I need your help to find him." 

As she looked up at him, what little hope Scully had desperately been clinging to began to die slowly. Tristan Hunt was staring at her as though she'd lost her mind. And truth was she felt that way. But he was shaking his head at her, stunned into silence. 

She closed her eyes then stepped past him to exit the door. Only she didn't know where she was going or what she was going to do. Tristan's voice stopped her. 

"Don't leave. I can't do this alone. Someone has to listen. I need your help too." 

Scully turned and looked back at him. She nodded slowly and crossed over to him, sitting on the couch. 

Tristan settled back against the chair. He laid his head back and tried to clear his mind. He needed to focus, to concentrate. Except he couldn't concentrate. He couldn't focus. He just wanted to scream. 

He closed his eyes. God, Mulder. Help me. The only thing he could think of to concentrate on was the memory of Mulder's eyes that day back at the quarry. The first time he had tried this. In his mind, he brought Mulder's face before him, remembering what it had been like to look so deeply into another's eyes. Mulder's eyes. He began to breathe in a deep steady rhythm, long and slow. Mulder's green hazel eyes drawing him near. 

He was in control. Mulder had told him that since the beginning. He was in control. Tristan realized his mind had wandered and he brought his concentration back to the picture in his head. Relaxing his muscles, this time he progressed quickly into his trance state. 

Scully watched him carefully. She'd been through this enough times to recognize the elements of trance. 

"Where are you, Tristan?" 

"I'm in the library." 

"Where?" 

"I'm looking for a book...Here it is" 

Scully wanted to scream again with impatience. What the fuck was he talking about? But she curbed her instinct. "Which book?" 

"The one Mulder..." Suddenly Tristan sat upright again. “Oh God, Oh Jesus. The basement, I'm back in the basement. No. NO!" 

Scully was alarmed; Tristan was suddenly sweating and shouting. She didn't know what to do. She'd been through hypnosis herself, but it was something she'd dismissed from her mind. It was only later when she'd listened to the tape that she'd heard the very real fear and desperation in her voice. Just as Tristan was sounding now. "Tristan, where are you now?" 

"I'm in the basement," he said impatiently. 

"Whose basement, where? Have you been there before?" 

"Oh Jesus, I see Mulder." Tristan moved his head suddenly, his closed eyes squeezing even more tightly shut. "Stop. STOP!" 

Scully was by Tristan's side. She didn't want to disturb the trance, but it was all she could do to keep from shaking him. 

"Stop what? What's happening?" 

"Stop hurting him. Stop." Tristan was clearly appealing to someone. 

"Who? Who's hurting him? What's happening to Mulder?" 

"He just hit him again with something. It looks like a pipe or something." Tristan turned his head suddenly as though looking away. "Oh God, I heard the bone, I heard it. Jesus God, stop it." 

Scully didn't know what to do. She didn't know how to guide Tristan; she didn't know how to help him see. If Mulder and Dr. Hawley couldn't do it, how the fuck could she? 

"Tristan. Stop looking at Mulder a moment. You need to look around the room. You need to see if there is anything that can tell us where this is, where this is happening." 

"I can hear the thuds against Mulder's body. He can't breathe very well. I can hear him trying to get air. The man is laughing again. God, I know that sound. I've heard it. Shit, he hit him again. He's on the floor, he's hitting him with a pipe." 

Scully was sickened by the visions in her own mind. "Can you see where he is?" 

"It's dark. Mulder's kneeling in a pool of light, like an interrogation. He's tied up somehow, he can't move enough to get out of the way. He keeps pulling away but he can't go far. He can't get out of the way but he keeps trying. It hurts, it hurts. He can't get away from the pain. The man is screaming at him." 

Scully felt the emotion welling up inside her at Tristan's words. She'd never been more frightened for her partner and she could hardly stand to be witness to his agony. Except she had to. She had to. 

"What is the man screaming, Tristan? What is he saying?" 

"He's not saying any words. It's just a scream and it's scaring Mulder as much as the pain. He can't see because of the blood running down his face. He's trying to see, but he can't. He's asking the man why. He wants to know why." 

Tristan turned his head back and forth as though looking for something, despair in his expression. "It's stopped. It's gone dark again. I can't see Mulder anymore. He's turned off the light. It's gone quiet." 

Scully went cold. Please God, no, she prayed. Not like this. Not alone in the dark. Please. Mulder has things to do here yet.

Tristan tilted his head as though listening closely to something, and then he went still. 

"Tristan, what is it?" 

His answer was a whisper. "Mulder's crying out. He's calling for you." 

Scully's hand came up to her mouth and tears slid from both Tristan's closed eyes and her own at their witness to Mulder's pain. Hurt and scared and alone in the dark, abandoned and at the mercy and in the control of something evil - every human being's nightmare. Scully felt the defeat crush her; she felt like she'd been run over by a car. She wanted to die. 

She pleaded with Tristan; "Can you see anything else? Please. Please, I know it's dark. But try." 

Tristan seemed unusually calm; he just seemed to be listening now. "I can't see. I can only hear. I can only hear Mulder. All I can hear is him ..." Tristan stopped abruptly as something else caught his attention. "I can hear the other walking around upstairs now. He's still laughing. It's echoing down through the floor. God, it sounds like when..." 

Tristan suddenly sat upright as he broke out of his hypnotic state. "It's Robbie." 

Scully gripped his arm. "What?" 

The words tumbled out. "Robbie McKeever. His house has a basement with no windows. It's all cement brick. When I was twelve, he dared me to go down there once. He told me he'd follow me down, except instead he locked me in down there. He left me there in the dark for hours. I remember screaming for him for hours. He thought it was funny. He thought it was funny. I heard him up there walking around and laughing. The sound echoed down to me. Goddamn bastard, I trusted him and he thought it was funny. I never told anyone about it. It's where Mulder is; it's where the others were. I didn't see it, but I heard it. I know that sound. I know I'm right. I know it." 

It never even occurred to Scully to question the validity of his recovered memory. 

Scully snapped open her cell phone and put a call through to Sheriff Carmichael who was half-way across the county, working on a fatal traffic collision between an eighteen-wheel truck and a mini-van of tourists on their way to Yellowstone national park. He put a call out for all available help to converge at the turn off to Robbie McKeever's house. Scully requested an ambulance be sent out from the closest medical facility in the nearby town of Riverton. 

Tristan and Scully arrived at the turn-off to the McKeever house first. Tristan told them it was a farmhouse outside of town about three miles and then about a quarter mile down a dirt road, tucked back up against the hills. She called again and confirmed that the Sheriff and ambulance were on their way, but both were still fifteen or twenty minutes away. Scully knew the correct procedure was to wait for back up. 

No fucking way was she waiting for back up. 

She turned to Tristan. "I want you to wait here for the Sheriff. Tell him I've gone on ahead." 

"No way. I'm going with you." Scully opened her mouth to argue, but he cut her off. "I know the house. I was there a hundred times as a kid. I've been in that damn basement; I know where the door is." 

Scully nodded and turned down the little road. She drove until Tristan told her that the house was just around the bend. She pulled the car off the road and got out. "You stay behind me and do exactly as I say." He nodded. 

Together, they crossed the heavily wooded field and within moments, the house came into view. Two stories and looking like just another run-down farmhouse. Nothing would indicate that so many gruesome deaths had occurred there. Robbie's car was parked in front. Through the open windows on the porch, they could hear the sounds of a baseball game on the TV. 

She and Tristan crouched low in the underbrush together, she turned to him. "Ok, tell me where the basement is." 

"Off the kitchen. There's a pantry and at the back of the pantry is the door. You can reach it through the kitchen or off the hallway that leads from the front room to the kitchen. 

"Is there a back door to the kitchen?" 

Tristan nodded. 

"Is it locked?" 

"It usually was." 

"OK. I may have to pick it. We need to find out where Robbie is in the house. I don't want him anywhere near Mulder when we take him. I don't want to give him the chance to use Mulder for leverage. I'm going to crawl up next to the house and see if I can see where he is." 

"Let me call him." 

"What?" 

"You got your cell phone. Let me call him. I can keep him distracted while you see where he is." 

Scully nodded with the plan. She pulled out the phone and handed it to him. Tristan tried to dial the number with trembling fingers. Scully touched his hand. "You need to be calm. You can do this." 

He nodded and pressed Send. 

They could hear the phone ringing in the house. It rang five, then ten, then fifteen times. 

"He's not answering." Scully said. "Why isn't he answering?" 

"Maybe he's back down in the basement. Maybe he can't hear it." 

Scully knew Tristan was right. And if McKeever was back in the basement, they couldn't wait another second. "I'm heading around to the back of the house to the kitchen door. You stay here." 

And giving him no time to argue, Scully took off through the low brush, making her way to the back of the house as Tristan watched helplessly. Suddenly, just as Scully was making her way across the side of the house, he saw Robbie's massive size appear in the front window. Tristan looked back over at Scully; she couldn't see him from the angle she was at. Robbie appeared to be headed for the hallway that led to the kitchen. He carried a shotgun in his hand. He and Scully would meet up head on when she came in the back of the house. 

Tristan surged to his feet, not sure what the hell he was going to do as he crossed the yard and walked up the stairs to the porch to the open door. "Hey Robbie?" he called, trying to make his voice sound as casual as possible. "Robbie, it's Tristan. You around?" 

The screen door on the porch was suddenly filled with Robbie's frame. Tristan took a deep breath. "Hey, man. How's it going?" 

"What are you doing here?" Robbie looked confused and agitated. He wasn't carrying the gun anymore. 

"My car died down the road, so I thought you'd let me use your phone to call Bret." 

Robbie hesitated, then nodded. "Sure, Tris. Come on in." He opened the screen door to let Tristan enter the house. "You know where the phone is." 

Robbie sounded just as friendly as he did every night in the bar and for just a split second, Tristan wondered if he was wrong about the whole thing. But he knew he wasn't. 

He made nervous chatter as he headed to the phone. "Hey, I hate to put you out, but you know Bret closes early sometimes, so maybe you can give me a ride back into town if I can't get a hold of him." 

Robbie nodded, "It's OK. I wasn't doing anything. I was just cleaning my gun and watching the game." He gestured to the table where the shotgun lay and where indeed, there was cleaning material scattered about. Jesus, what was he getting it ready for? 

As he punched in random numbers, he watched Robbie calmly load shells into the gun. Robbie then leaned back against the wall next to the hallway that led to the kitchen, setting the shotgun against the wall next to him as he waited for Tristan to make his call. 

Tristan glanced down that hallway wondering if Mulder was dead or alive. Please, God. One favor. Just one. I've never asked for anything. 

Tristan continued his attempt to keep Robbie distracted and hide his own nervousness; he nodded towards the shotgun at Robbie's side. "Been out getting the rabbits out of your mom's garden? I remember you had some damn big ones." 

Robbie smiled a little suddenly. "Yeah, remember that one that weighed about fifty pounds? It actually chased Bret across the garden." Robbie laughed, and a dark chill ran through Tristan. "Wow that was a long time ago." 

"Yeah, I haven't been here for a while." 

"No, you ain't been here for a long time..." 

Tristan set down the receiver. "No answer, it looks like you may have to give me that lift after all." He looked up at Robbie and froze at what he saw. 

His face had gone dark. "You ain't been here since that time I locked you in the basement." He picked up the shotgun. "You're here looking for that FBI guy, the one June has the hots for. I bet you have that other one with you." Robbie looked out the window. 

"Robbie, what are you talking about, man? My car broke down." 

"You show up here after ten years? I ain't stupid. I'm not going to let that bastard take June away from me. I'm not!" 

Tristan's mind was racing at the speed of light. June? What the fuck did June have to do with this? Where the fuck was Agent Scully? It seemed like hours, but Tristan knew it had really been just a little over a minute since she had left him in front. All he could think to do was keep Robbie talking. "What are you talking about Robbie? Mulder doesn't want June; he hardly knows her." 

Wrong thing to say. He saw Robbie's eyes cloud with rage. "Bullshit. She was hanging all over him! She was kissing and hugging him. She never kisses or hugs me like that. June doesn't understand that they all want to hurt her; they all want to take her from me. I'm the only one who cares about her." 

Fuck. Oh fuck, what was he supposed to do. How do you reason with someone who was nuts? Where the fuck was Agent Scully? 

"Robbie, not every man wants to take June away from you or hurt her. I never hurt June, did I?" 

Robbie gave him a disgusted look. "Don't treat me like I'm stupid. I know what you are. I knew you was OK around her. I knew since we was kids you were queer." He laughed again. "Fuck, I probably knew before you knew. I saw how you looked at the guys and how you was with girls. I knew you'd never come between me and June." 

The words tumbled out of Tristan's mouth, trying somehow to reach his old friend's twisted mind. "But that's just it, Robbie, Mulder isn't interested in June. He's with me. Didn't you see that, Robbie? He's with me. He doesn't want June cause he's like me. And June doesn't want him cause he's like me." 

Robbie looked confused a moment. "Like you?" 

"Yeah, Robbie, like me. Just like me. You made a mistake. That's all, just a mistake." Tristan dared a step towards the other man. "So let me take Mulder and we'll go on home and forget about it, OK?" 

Robbie lowered his shotgun a little. "Oh God, Tris, I'm sorry, man. I'm sorry. I didn't realize." 

Tristan felt like he was losing his mind. Robbie was apologizing as though he'd simply backed into his jeep and dinged his bumper. Like it was nothing more than that. He actually even looked sorry. 

Just then, over Robbie's shoulder, he saw Agent Scully enter the far end of the hallway from the kitchen. Thank you, God. She'd removed her shoes and was walking silently on the hardwood floor towards them with the stealth of a cat and her gun raised. The problem was that Robbie was around the corner from her as she approached up the hallway from behind him. She couldn't see him from that angle; she could only hear his voice. 

Tristan forced a smile and tried to make his voice as calm and as light as possible, to draw Robbie's attention again. "It's OK, Robbie, really. So why don't you just put the shotgun down," he said to let Scully know about the weapon. "I can just take Mulder and go home. We'll forget about it. Mistakes happen. It's OK." 

"Tris, you know I can't do that. If I let the two of you go, they'll come get me and then who will protect June? I can't leave June unprotected! No one loves her like I do. I don't want to do it, man, but I got no choice, you don't leave me any choice. I gotta protect June--Why don't you understand that?" 

Scully had made it far enough down the hallway that she now had a clear view and could see his weapon was pointed at the floor. "Robbie McKeever, I'm a federal agent. Drop your weapon and put your hands in the air." Tristan watched the next horrifying moment as though in slow motion. 

Robbie, instead of doing what he was told, turned towards the sound, shouldering his gun as he did so. He never even fully completed the turn, for Scully drilled him with a kill shot through the forehead, stopping his movement. He was hurled back against the wall as first his gun, and then his heavy body slammed to the wooden floor of the house. 

Tristan met Scully's eyes a moment, then pushed past her and ran down the hallway and through the pantry. He unbarred the door to the basement and ran down the stairs, flicking on the light switch. Scully cautiously looked at Robbie's still form on the floor, assuring herself he was dead and not just wounded, then whirled and followed Tristan down the hallway, her heart constricting at what she might find. 

From the head of the stairs, she saw Mulder lying on his right side in bloody, crumpled heap, still chained to the wall. Tristan was bent over him. He looked up as she pounded down the stairs. "He's breathing," he told her as he moved to gather Mulder into his arms. 

"Don't touch him!" He froze and looked up at Scully as she approached. "We don't know what his injuries are yet, you can make it worse by moving him." 

Scully knelt beside Mulder's body and felt her way down his spine and neck; nothing seemed overtly out of place from just the touch. She ran her hands over his rib cage. Shit. Things were definitely wrong there. "Mulder, can you hear me? Mulder?" 

She was rewarded with a painful sounding groan as her voice reached him. Mulder whispered her name back to her as he moved a bit and tried to raise his head. Suddenly, he coughed and that movement was followed by a sharp cry of excruciating pain. She placed her hands gently over his ribs to steady him and looked up at Tristan's alarmed face. "He's got some broken ribs, for sure." Where the hell was that ambulance? 

She looked at where the chains bit into Mulder's skin around his wrists, where he had obviously struggled to free himself. As she felt his arms, she realized both his right arm and hand were broken and she knew the pain from the restraints must be agonizing. A rage shot through her and for a moment, she wished she could kill Robbie again, much more slowly this time. But then she shook her head, no time for that now.

"We need to get these goddamn chains off him." She looked up at Tristan. "See if Robbie has a key to this padlock on him." 

He nodded, was up the stairs in a flash and Scully heard a thud as Tristan shoved Robbie's body around roughly, she then heard a sound that could only be Tristan kicking the dead man. Good for him, she thought. She turned back to her partner. "You're safe now. It's over, Mulder, it's over. We'll make it stop hurting soon, I promise." Although Mulder didn't open his eyes, her voice reached seemed to reach him as he nodded once.

Tristan was back moments later with a key chain. The third key proved to be the one and the padlock slipped open and Scully gently moved Mulder's arms from behind his back. "OK, Tristan, help me get him on his back, support his head and shoulders. That's right." 

Tristan helped her turn him and she continued with her exam. She smoothed back Mulder's hair, pushing the blood off his face, and at the same time prying open his eyes. She had no flashlight, but even in the dim light, his pupils reacted. 

Tristan saw it. "That's good, right?" he asked and Scully nodded. 

She saw that Mulder's lips were dry. She gently pinched the skin on the back of his hand, and when she released it, it remained pinched looking. "He's a little dehydrated, he's probably hasn't had any water." She pressed on Mulder's abdomen, feeling for signs of rupture or internal bleeding. A pass over his legs brought another grunt of pain from Mulder. There was a break on his lower left leg somewhere. 

She was just going to suggest that they get Mulder up the stairs and to the car when in the distance they heard the oncoming wail of a siren. She and Tristan met each other's eyes, the relief apparent on both of their faces and they each exhaled a breath. 

Tristan started to take Mulder's left hand and then stopped, remembering her earlier admonishment. He looked up at Scully. 

Scully nodded to him. "It's OK, let him know you're here. Keep talking to him. Tell him help is on the way and he's going to be OK. I'll go let them know where we are." 

Tristan squeezed Mulder's hand and bent low to his ear. Scully couldn't make out the words but there was no mistaking the tone and Mulder responded to it by trying to move. She touched Tristan's shoulder. "Don't let him move." Tristan nodded and returned his attention to Mulder, his low soothing murmurs having the effect of stilling her partner's movements. 

She stared at the two men a moment, feeling very much the intruder suddenly. Almost voyeuristic. She rose slowly to her feet. Then she turned and hurried back up the stairs to guide the Sheriff and ambulance to the scene. 

=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--= 

Tristan and Scully rode with Mulder in the ambulance. Tristan held Mulder's hand the entire way despite the odd looks given to him by the attendants. At the hospital, he watched as Scully took charge. She was clearly in her domain now and she acted with an authority and confidence he'd rarely felt in his life as she directed the hospital personnel and Mulder's care. 

He felt so unnecessary. Fuck, all of these people were useful, they were all doing something to help, and all he could do was stand by like an idiot and watch. But in spite of the fact he was sick with worry, he had to admire Scully because he knew she was sick with worry too, even if she didn't show it now. He knew from the scars on Mulder's body that she'd probably done this more than a few times. 

God, how did she do it? He was wreck, an absolute fucking wreck. 

And he knew that he couldn't live with this feeling on any kind of regular basis. 

Mulder was in a semi-conscious state, mumbling away incoherently, induced by the morphine sulfate given to him for the pain of cracked ribs, which sent agony with each labored breath. He'd been x-rayed and given an MRI. He had a concussion, but the blows to his head had not cracked his skull. His arm, hand, and leg were set. 

He'd been given a thousand cc's of Ringers Lactate and other fluids intravenously, which quickly alleviated the dehydration. They were then able to start him on Keflex, an antibiotic to reduce the risk of infection from his multiple lacerations. The urine output showed some proteins and blood but his liver functions tested normal, no ruptures or tears. They continued to monitor the functions of his bruised kidneys. The next sample was clean and that was a good sign. There would be no permanent damage to his internal organ functions. They'd gotten to him in time. 

Scully sought Tristan out in the waiting room. She'd been giving him periodic updates, but now she sat down and told him everything that was happening, all the tests and all the results. They'd been lucky. Another day in Robbie's hands and they would have lost him. The last bunch of tests were now all coming back with marked improvement. He was in great pain, which they could alleviate, but otherwise, it looked like looked like everything would heal with time with no residual health problems. Agent Scully told him she was very pleased with how things were progressing. 

"Can I see him?" 

"Of course. He's sleeping, but of course, you can see him. Go on in." 

Tristan entered Mulder's room and looked at his sleeping lover. Jesus Christ, he looked like shit. Agent Scully was pleased with this? That must mean that she'd seen him look worse. The thought was frightening to him. He sat down in the chair by the bed quietly, afraid of waking him. Afraid because he didn't know what he'd say if he did wake up. What did you say to someone who almost died? He sat by the bed a very long time. God, what was he going to do about all this? 

He heard the door swish open and he glanced up to see Agent Scully. He stood up slowly as she approached and stood next to him. She spoke softly. "He'll sleep the whole night, he's pretty heavily medicated. But we'll give him something milder tomorrow and he'll seem more like normal." 

Tristan gestured an outstretched hand over the bed. "None of this is normal," he said with a slight edge to his voice. 

She looked at him with some sympathy. She didn't blame Tristan for being dubious; it was hard to comprehend. "No, you're right, it isn't really. But in a strange way, it is for him. But he'll recover, Mr. Hunt," she assured him again. "Mulder's the most tenacious person I've ever known." 

Tristan thought about that as he looked at the battered man. He'd have a few more scars for his collection. He smiled sadly, and his heart went heavy as he realized the truth in front of him. "Wyle E. Coyote," he whispered as his eyes filled with tears. 

"Excuse me?" 

Tristan shook his head and gripped the side rail of the bed. 

She touched his shoulder. "You need to rest yourself." 

Tristan nodded, too tired to argue with someone who was right. He leaned down and kissed Mulder's unbruised cheek as she watched. He opened the door and then turned back. "Agent Scully?" She looked over at him. "Thank you for taking such good care of him." 

She accepted his thanks with a nod. 

Tristan smiled a little and slipped out of the room. Scully watched the door swing closed, then turned back to Mulder. After a moment, she pressed her lips to her sleeping partner's forehead, turned and walked quickly from the room. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

When Mulder awoke the next day, he felt more alert. With his right arm and hand in a cast and his left leg too, he felt extremely lopsided. There seemed to be nothing on his body that wasn't bruised or didn't hurt. But he insisted on going to the bathroom on his own, refused to eat the hospital oatmeal and wouldn't take the stronger dose of painkiller offered to him, insisting on the milder prescription also noted in his chart. Scully smiled when all this was reported to her by the staff upon her arrival. 

Mulder was feeling better. 

She entered his room to find him sitting up in bed. He looked like shit, but he grinned weakly at her and it was a glorious sight. She sat next to him on the bed and filled him in on everything. An investigation of Robbie McKeever's house turned up evidence that linked him to all the deaths. They found volumes of diaries written about the barmaid, June. It seemed he'd always been in love with her clear back from when they were kids back in grade school. He'd been totally obsessed, but content to worship from afar. It seemed he had his own well-kept secret in this small town. 

But then about eight months ago, June became the victim of a date rape. It had been a trucker, a man who had come into the bar one evening and had seemed nice. The only person she told were Tristan and Robbie who'd found her crying in the storeroom one evening shortly after it had happened. She'd refused to report it to the police, fearing the gossip in the small town. Tristan had taken her for counseling over in Casper and she'd made a tremendous effort to put the ordeal behind her. 

Robbie McKeever, however, was another matter. 

June's attack had pushed his obsession into a murderous rampage. June's actual attacker was long gone but he now became June's protector and avenger. He would fixate on someone that he felt was a threat to June, someone that she'd paid too much attention to or who paid too much attention to her. He stalked these victims. Abducted them and then merited out the punishment his twisted mind thought they deserved for the hurt they would cause June. He'd killed his first victim about four months ago and then developed a taste for it. 

Mulder listened to this tale with solemn eyes. Scully knew a long time after his body had healed, in his mind he would continue to feel the terror he'd experienced. There would probably be nightmares for months to come. 

"I'm sure it will gratify you to no end to know that you were right--Tristan Hunt did have the answer in his head. But he only found the memory when he stopped looking and started listening. It was the listening that finally triggered it in his mind."

"Can I say I told you so now?" 

"Of course you can, Mulder, you certainly earned the right." 

"Well, as long as you know it, I guess I don't need to say it." 

They smiled a bit at each other and for a moment, it was right again between them. Then Scully returned to the case before them.

"But we still don't know why Tristan was seeing Robbie McKeever's actions in dreams though."

"I think it was because they were so close when they were younger. Certainly, McKeever had terrorized Tristan, although he’d pushed it out of his mind. But that was the beginning of McKeever’s madness. Maybe that moment of victim and perpetrator created a connection, a transference, we can't understand.”

"Maybe," Scully allowed. "But I do know he saved your life, Mulder." 

Just then, the door pushed open and Tristan Hunt looked into the room. He made eye contact with Mulder who smiled as he nodded back to him. Scully watched the exchange and suddenly she felt very awkward again, much like the proverbial third wheel. A moment's uncomfortable silence passed. 

"Mulder, I...I need to go finish up the reports, Sheriff Carmichael has been waiting for me." She rose to her feet and gathered up her jacket. "I'll be back in just a bit." 

"OK. I'll save you some Jell-O." 

Scully reached down and touched his hand. He squeezed her fingers weakly with his bruised left hand. Scully turned and headed to the door as Tristan stepped through to let her pass by. At the door she hesitated then turned back to him. "Mr. Hunt."

Tristan turned and looked at her. Scully stepped towards him and offered him her hand, meeting his eyes. "You made all the difference here. Thank you." 

Tristan looked surprised, but he took her hand and held it a moment as they looked at each other. "Thank you, Agent Scully, I appreciate hearing that from you." 

Scully nodded once and with a final glance at Mulder, who'd silently watched the exchange, she left the room. 

Tristan turned back to the man in the bed. "She's a class act." 

Mulder nodded in agreement. Tristan sat down on the edge of the bed, close to Mulder. He nodded his head to the door that Scully had just exited through. "So, you and she gonna be OK?" 

Mulder took a long deep breath and shook his head. "I honestly don't know. We said some pretty shitty things to each other that we're not talking about right now and I don't know when or how or even if we're going to resolve all that." He sighed. "Basically, I think the only thing that I know for sure is that I don't know shit." 

Tristan looked at the various IV tubes and monitors as he ran his fingers over the cast encasing Mulder's right arm. "And you--are you gonna be OK here?" 

"I swear, whatever Robbie McKeever didn't do, the hospital did. But yeah, I'm gonna be OK. Scully tells me there's nothing that won't heal. But right now, everything on my body fucking hurts." 

"Can't they give you something for all the pain?" 

"Oh yeah, the nurse just gave me a big old shot of Demerol in the butt a while ago." 

Tristan grinned a little. "Ah, lucky bitch, I wish I'd been here." 

Mulder smiled. "Yeah, I slept like the dead last night, no pun intended. And I'm a happy camper right this minute. Everything still hurts like shit, I just don't care." 

Tristan nodded. Suddenly he leaned forward very near Mulder. "Hey--ask me how I slept last night." 

"And how did you sleep last night?" 

"Like a proverbial baby. My body and mind decided to rest at the same time for once, not one single dream. And other than the fact that I seriously missed your delicious body, I was like a stone on Quaaludes." 

Mulder laughed and then grabbed his ribs with his good hand as he grimaced in pain. 

"Oh God, Mulder, I'm sorry." Tristan laid his hands gently over Mulder's hand and ribs to steady him. 

Mulder grasped on to Tristan's fingers as he shook his head. "No, it feels great. Pain means I'm alive." His expression changed and he became serious again. "The whole time he had me, I kept hanging on to the pain. I knew as long as it hurt, I was still alive. He left me alone for long periods of time in the total blackness. The only way I knew I was still alive was because of the pain." 

Tristan closed his eyes as a wave of anguish fell over him and he hoped there was a special room in hell for Robbie McKeever. "Mulder, I'm so sorry. I didn't know it was him. I had no idea. I worked with that fucking bastard almost every day; we grew up together. I didn't know, I didn't remember in time. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry..." Tristan's voice cracked and the tears slipped from his eyes as he shook his head. 

Mulder reached for him with his good arm, drawing his head down to his chest. "Stop that. You couldn't know. No one can. I've hunted people like Robbie for fifteen years and they live out in the bright light where you can't see them. And no one knows better than me about hiding from a memory." 

Tristan held on to him, ashamed that it was Mulder who was offering him comfort instead of the other way around. "God, I was so scared when we were looking for you. I've never felt like that. I was so scared..." 

"It's OK. It's OK," Mulder assured him quietly. "It's over. Scully told me what you did. I guess I owe you my life." 

Tristan sat back up, shaking his head. "No. We're even. I was on the edge; I would have gone over if you hadn't pulled me back." He leaned over him, his voice quieter now. "I won't ever forget that, Mulder. I won't ever forget you." 

Jesus, that sounded like a goodbye, Mulder thought. Yes, he'd known it was coming, but it still rattled him. Tristan looked at him a long time, his eyes sad and worried. He reached out and touched Mulder's face, tracing his fingers slowly down the side. Even in his bruised and battered condition, Mulder felt the same physical pull he always did with this man. He wasn't in a state to do anything about it, but it was just another ache layered on top of all the others. 

Tristan lightly touched the fullness of Mulder's lip with his thumb. "Does that mouth hurt too much to kiss me?" 

Mulder shook his head and Tristan leaned forward to take his mouth gently with his. Mulder didn't notice any pain from the touch, only the deep contentment as Tristan's hands came up to hold his face. 

Tristan drew Mulder in hungrily, taking the touch and kiss he'd been so desperately afraid he'd never feel again, seeking his comfort in the reality of it. He released Mulder's mouth to brush his lips softly to his closed eyes, his nose, and his cheeks; lightly kissing all the bruises on his face. But Mulder sought his mouth again, his tongue delving deeply and possessively. 

"What happens now?" Mulder asked when he drew away. 

"I guess what happens now is you go on back to your life in Washington and I get the hell out of this town and start my life in California." 

Mulder opened his mouth to say something, but Tristan stopped him. "I can't do it, Mulder. I can't come to Washington and go through hoping to God each time that you come back from more misadventures like these. I can't do it--I can't watch you do this." He smiled sadly. "And what are you going to do? Quit the FBI, move to West Hollywood with me and we get an apartment together with ferns and cats?" 

"That actually doesn't sound so bad," Mulder said quietly, both serious and not. 

"Mulder, you'd go fucking nuts, then drive me nuts and we'd have ruined two lives. You and I existed in this weird singular moment of time. But that moment is gone now, it died when Robbie did. I don't have your education, but I do have common sense. And it's plain that you love this shit, Mulder. You crave it. The evidence of that is all over your body. Yeah, you get tired and discouraged and frustrated--who the fuck wouldn't? But in the end...you love this more." 

Tristan kissed him again softly, delicately. 

"And I need to find my way too, and all I do know for sure is that it's not here. And if all this has shown me anything, it's that I need to be where I don't have to hide or pretend or explain." Tristan smiled and gave a small laugh. "For lack of a better phrase, I need to be with my own kind. Do you understand that?" 

Mulder nodded; he couldn't argue with such perfect logic. He smiled a little. He didn't need to worry anymore; Tristan Hunt was going to be all right. 

"Good." Tristan laid his hand against the side of Mulder's face and neck, running his thumb along his jaw line, looking into his eyes. "Tell me you love me, Mulder. Because I know that you do in your own fucked up way and I wanna hear you say it before I go." 

Mulder reached for Tristan's mouth again in a long, lingering kiss, one that lasted forever. He drew away just enough to whisper, "I love you, Tristan," before taking his mouth again. 

Tristan finally gathered enough strength to draw away just enough to look into his eyes again. "Jesus God, Mulder," he whispered, hearing the breathless tone in his voice, knowing Mulder could hear it too. "You're too damn good at this to waste it like you have been. Promise me you won't go five years before you do this again." 

Mulder smiled gently. "Thanks. It's nice to be appreciated." Tristan saw that there was no humor in his voice, he truly meant it as he brought Tristan's mouth back to his own one last time. Kissing him fiercely; kissing him goodbye. 

When he let Tristan go, there were tears in the man's dark eyes again. "Shit, Mulder. You're making this difficult." 

"You'll miss me in California," Mulder told him and Tristan nodded as he moved slowly to his feet, feeling cold and shaky already. Mulder's voice reached him again. "And I'll need to know that you got there all right." 

"I will, I'll make sure you know," Tristan promised. His throat hurt, making speaking difficult. "I won't forget you. I won't forget that you believed in me." At the door, Tristan turned back, meeting his lover's eyes one last time. "Mulder, I love you too." He turned and was gone. 

And Mulder cried quietly alone in his bed. Jesus, everything on his body hurt, but nothing so much as his heart. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Scully came back hours later, she pushed open the door to see Mulder looking out the window. At the sound of the door, he turned his eyes to hers and when he saw her, he smiled wanly. As she looked at him, she saw his bright eyes, despite all that had happened between them, her heart hurt for him. 

Scully put a smile she didn't feel on her face, crossed the room, and stood near the bed. She looked at the tray of untouched lunch food. "Hey, you were going to just save me the Jell-O, not everything." She touched the tray. "You need help eating?" 

He shook his head. "Not hungry." Mercifully, Scully refrained from the you-need-to-eat lecture. She just nodded as she pushed the tray out of the way and sat on the bed. 

"I brought you something you'll eat," she told him with a small smile and Mulder looked mildly curious. Scully reached into her pocket and took out a tiny package of Sunflower seeds, which she waved in front of him. "After all, you need your high-fat, totally nutrition free, empty calories." 

Mulder recognized a blatant attempt to reach out when he saw it. Sunflower seeds were as good a place as any to start, he supposed, it was certainly nothing weirder than anything else between them was. He gave a small chuckle but then a flash of pain crossed his face at the stabbing feeling from the movement of his broken ribs, and he gripped his chest and winced. 

"Your ribs hurt like shit, don't they?" she asked in sympathy as he opened his eyes and nodded. She reached down to the foot of the bed and looked at his chart. "Your next shot is in about a half-hour. I can make it happen sooner if you want." 

To her absolute surprise, Mulder nodded as he drew a cautious breath. Within minutes, Scully had the nurse in the room and Mulder had his shot. Scully sat back down on the edge of his bed and gave him some cold water, which he drank. She took a cool, damp cloth and patted the skin of his face down, gently soothing away the light sheen of pain induced sweat and the remaining tear streaks. It did nothing medically but it was always comforting. He closed his eyes and let her take care of him a bit and in a strange way, his acquiescence was comforting for her too. Mulder didn't often let her fuss over him and right now, she needed to fuss over him. But she knew he must have really been hurting to permit it though. 

After a few minutes, he looked at her and she saw that the pain had begun to clear out of his eyes. He spoke softly. 

"So when do I get my sunflower seeds?" 

She opened the little packet, pouring a few in his left hand before realizing that he wasn't going to do very well with the tiny seeds. Even though his left hand was not in a cast, it was still covered with bruises and cuts and it was quite swollen. Taking the seeds back, she raised one to her mouth and cracked the shell with her teeth as she'd seen Mulder do a hundred times. She knew that Mulder somehow managed to extract the seed with his tongue and then dispose of the shell, but she was just not as talented. She pulled the shell apart with her fingers and then held it out to Mulder who dutifully opened his mouth for her to place the tiny seed on his tongue. He nodded his thanks and chewed. 

She looked down as she worked on opening the next seed. "Mulder, this is an awful lot of work--why the hell don't you just buy these already shelled?" 

"Because that would be easy," he answered as she fed him another seed from her fingers. She shook her head slowly at the man who even needed his food to challenge him. 

"So," she asked with deliberate casualness as she fed him the next one. "What happens now?" 

The small talk was over. "The usual, Scully; I demand to get the hell out of here earlier than I should and then I go back to my life in Washington." 

As he looked at her, he saw her exhale softly and he realized that she'd considered the possibility that he might not be going back. 

"You told me a few days ago that you didn't have a life," she said gently, opening the dialog between them again. 

"Well, what little of it I have is in Washington. The X-files are there. You're there." 

She looked at him strangely and he couldn't quite read her for once. "You said that to me once before," she said finally. 

"I did?" 

"Yeah, after I'd followed you down to Puerto Rico. That was the first time I ever knew for sure that you considered me an ally, that I was a part of this thing that has taken over both of our lives, that I meant something to you." 

Mulder nodded, remembering now. 

She set her handful of sunflower seeds on the bed table. "And you told me again in your hallway last summer." She was silent a moment as she looked down, tracing a pattern on his blanket with her finger. The same pattern over and over again. "But I've never really returned the gesture, have I, Mulder?" 

He didn't answer that, he didn't need to. She didn't mean for it to be answered. 

She took a breath as she looked at the pattern in the blanket, then she smoothed it away and looked up at him. "I reacted badly when you told me about you and Tristan. But not because of what you think. It's not about the sex. I didn't resent you giving him your body..." She broke off suddenly and for the first time, a tiny smile crossed her face and she looked up at him and then away quickly, a little self-conscious. “Well, that's a lie. Of course, I resented that. Tristan Hunt knows something that I've been wondering about for years. I won't pretend that doesn't bother me. It bothered me. A lot." 

She shook her head slightly and got back on track, looking back at him. "But what really bothered me--what I really resented--was that you gave him the bits of you that I know. Not the Fox Mulder that you save for the rest of the world, but the man I know. The man I've come to think of as mine...and I found out that I'm not very good at sharing." 

She fell silent a moment and then continued. "Mulder, I've done the best work of my life with you. You have always treated me as an equal and with respect, despite the fact I can be such a coward--" 

Mulder shook his head now, touching his hand to her arm. That was just plain wrong. "Scully, that's not true. How can you say that? You're the least cowardly person I've ever known. You've risked your life a hundred times over for me and for others. You're the one who went into that farmhouse after me. You stopped McKeever. It wasn't just Tristan who saved my life." 

She looked at him sadly. "Oh Mulder, there's a big difference between being a physical coward and an emotional coward. Being physically brave is the easy part." 

Her words came slowly now, indicating she was picking them carefully. "I hardly ever risk myself the way you do. My father taught me that maintaining control was the most efficient way to get something done. The first thing they teach you in medical school is not to get involved. At Quantico, they teach you to look only at the evidence. Then I met you and you.... you just defied everything I'd ever been taught. Everything I thought I knew. We just saw everything so differently--not just the cases--but especially how we deal with the people we're supposed to help and protect." 

Scully looked away again because it was easier to talk if she didn't have to look at him. "Mulder, I berated you for getting involved with a witness. But the truth is, you've always gotten involved with the people on our cases. You expose your heart to these people. I watch you--I know how deeply you hurt for others. I saw how Lucy Householder's death broke your heart. I saw how Max Fenig and Roland Fuller got under your skin. You saw right through Marty Glenn's defenses and knew she was terrified when the rest of us just saw a belligerent blind girl. Bobby Rich seemed like just another juvenile delinquent except that you saw a lonely kid who was hard to love. I was looking at the evidence and you were looking at the humanity, the emotions." 

"But I also see you pay a terrible price for seeing these things. I watch you get hurt, Mulder, and it scares me. And I wonder how you can do it--I can't imagine exposing myself to that. And yet, you never back off or turn away. You open yourself up over and over and over again to these people who need you." 

She looked up at him now, her eyes bright. "And I'm one of those people who needs you, Mulder. Your courage to be open is the thing that draws me close to you. It's the thing that touches my heart the strongest. It's the thing that keeps me at your side in this job. And I wouldn't change that about you, Mulder. Not for anything would I change that, because I need you as you are to make me a whole person too." 

Mulder closed his eyes as emotion overcame him. When he could look at her again, he smiled gently. "Thank you, Scully. Thank you for telling me that." After a moment, he fell back on the banter that passed for communication between them. "I know that was all really hard for you to say, but you did good." 

She smiled back a little wryly and nodded. "Thank you. Maybe it's rubbing off a bit." 

She reached down and took his hand into both of hers. "Mulder, I would never deny you the chance to find any happiness you can. I wouldn't do that to you. I'm not going to pretend that I understand everything that went on with Tristan Hunt, and I'm so sorry that you're hurting over it right now. But I think he made you happy for a while, Mulder. And I want that for you." She paused a moment. "I want that for both of us." 

Mulder held on to her hand as their eyes met as they looked at each other openly. "Me too, Scully," he answered as they finally released each other from the strange emotional bondage that had existed between them for so long. 

She released his hand, laying it back across his stomach. "I want you to get some sleep. I'll come back later this afternoon." She got up from the bed and was slipping on her jacket when she heard his voice. 

"Hey, Scully?" She turned back to him, meeting his eyes. 

"Thanks for the sunflower seeds." 

A slow smile crossed her face and then his. There was no explaining the two of them, she thought. "You're welcome, Mulder." 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Seven weeks later, Mulder limped in to his basement office in Washington D.C. He'd just gotten both the casts off a few days ago and while he couldn't move as quickly as he would like, to not have to use crutches and not be dependent upon Scully for driving him everywhere was a major step forward towards freedom. He got to drive his own car today and that was almost cause for dancing. He turned the lights on in the office. Scully wasn't in yet; she was probably celebrating her own return of freedom by sleeping in. Good for her. 

He settled into the chair and casually glanced through the mail left in his inbox when he saw it. A white envelope with a handwritten address, clearly not a business letter. As he reached for his letter opener, it dawned on him that he'd never seen his handwriting before. Tearing open the envelope, he saw two pages, also both handwritten. You didn't see that much anymore, in this world of computers and email. It made it very personal somehow. 

He unfolded the letter. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

Dear Mulder, 

I promised you I would let you know that I got here OK. Well, 72 hours after I left you in the hospital, I saw the ocean for the first time in my life. The power and magnificence stunned me; it was even, more than I expected. I walked across the sand at a place called Ventura, shoved my feet in the cold salt water, and felt the breeze on my face and I finally felt free. 

And nothing, except you, had ever felt so good or so right. 

I sat back up on the beach and watched my first sunset over the water. And I cried because you weren't there. And then I cried because you were alive to watch a sunset wherever you were. God or somebody came through for me on that one. 

I got down to Hollywood and checked in at a little motel in the downtown area. Being a hick from a small town, I hadn't realized right off the bat that it was a place that rented by the half-hour to local hookers, male and female. So I got to listen to the sounds of fucking all night long, not a pleasant experience when it's not happening to you. Needless to say, I bugged out pretty soon after that. 

I enrolled in UCLA for the fall term and paid up my first year's tuition. One of these days, Mulder, you'll go to some grossly over-produced movie with pointless special effects and see my name. Look for me. 

I'm living in Venice now, on a little street called Rose that has funky apartments. I answered an ad on the Student Services board looking for roommates because I couldn't even afford to breathe the air here if I wanted to go to school. I'm now living with Julie, who's a hairdresser and tends to wear black lipstick and Steven, who wants to be an actor. Steven is obviously straight so when they talked to me about moving in, I felt that I should tell him I was gay. I was all nervous, but they both laughed at me. Steven said that unless my being gay meant I couldn't cough up my share of the rent on time or buy him a beer occasionally, it shouldn't be an issue. 

Welcome to California, Tristan Hunt...... 

I do have to say that after living alone for so long, it was a little strange to have people around in my living space all the time. But we're on different schedules and so far, the biggest conflict has been over whose turn it is to water the plants. We all go to breakfast on Sunday mornings and tell each other about our week and it seems like I'm part of something. And that feels good, it just feels normal. 

I've found work at a small gay club by the beach. Yes, I'm a bartender again! I'm making pretty good money, but of course, it all goes to rent or to my tuition fund. Speaking of gay, the other day I went over to West Hollywood to the Gay Social Services center. I met some good people there and there are some groups for us newly-out types. ("Fresh out of the wrapper" as Julie calls it.) I've been to a couple of the meetings. I'm slowly becoming more comfortable in the skin I was born with instead of the one I chose to wear for so long. 

No place on earth is free of hate, and LA isn't Shangri-La by a long shot. But I don't feel I have to hide here. I'm not afraid that someone might guess my secret. If I start to falter, I always remember that you stood by me. You gave yourself to me and that reminds me that I'm worth something. 

I'm happy here mostly except....well, you know what the except is...I don't need to say it. 

Take care of yourself, Wyle E. Coyote, because I still love you. 

Tristan. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

Mulder read the letter twice more. He was just reading again when Scully came in the door. She greeted him as she removed her coat. As she turned around, she saw the serious look on his face and the note in his hands. 

"Mulder, what is it?" 

He slowly refolded the letter and placed it back in the envelope, before looking up at her. "It's a letter from Tristan Hunt." 

Scully sat down in the chair opposite him. "And how is he?" 

"He's doing OK. California agrees with him." 

"And how about you, Mulder?" she asked gently. "How are you getting along?" 

He thought about that a moment before answering as he bent down and put the letter in his briefcase for safekeeping. He looked back up at his partner. 

"Everything is healing up nicely, Scully. No visible scars."

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by, but certainly not based on, the tragedy of Matthew Shepard. Like many, I was horrified by the vicious crime and the lack of remorse shown by the murderers, and many of their friends and family, made me so angry. I have dear friends in the LGBTQ community and I can only hope we will reach a place of empathy and compassion.


End file.
